IBRARY 

JNIVERSITY   Of 
CALIFORNIA 

AN  DIEGO 


J 


LOVE  AND  LIBERTY. 


A     THRILLING 


NARRATIVE  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION  OF  1792. 


BY 


ALEXANDER  4>UMAS. 

AUTHOR   OF   "THE   COUNT   OP    MONTE   CRtSTO,"  "THE    THREE   GUARDSMEN ,"    "TWENTY 

TEARS     AFTER,''      "  BR  AIJEI.ONNE  ;      THE     SON     OF     ATHOS,"      "THE      CHEVALIER,'' 

"THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  PHTSIOI  AN,"  "  ADV  ENTURES  OF  A  MARQUIS,"  "CAMILLEJ 

OR,  THE    FATE    OF    A    COQUETTE,"    "FORTY-FIVE    GUARDSMEN,"    "LOUISE 

LA    VALLIERE,"    "  COUNTESS   OF    CHARNT,"     "  QUEEN'S     NECKLACE," 

"  THE  IRON  HAND,"   "THE  IRON  MASK,"  "ANDRE  DE  TAVEKNET," 

"ED.MOND   DANl'ES,"     "SIX    YEARS   LATER,"   ETC.,  ETC.,  ETC. 


"March  on!  march  on!  On  chilup.en  op  the  land, 
The  DAI,  THE  HOUR  of  glory,  is  at  hand!" 


PHILADELPHIA: 

T.   B.   PETERSON   &   BROTHERS; 

306     CHESTNUT     STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 
T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

In   the  Clerk's    Office  of  the   District   Court  <>f  tlie  United  States,  iu  and  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


ALEXANDER  DUMAS'  GREAT  WORKS. 


COUNT   OF   MONTE  CRISTO.  $1  50 

THE  IRON  MASK 1  00 

LOUISE  LA  YALL1ERE. 1  00 

ADVENTURES  OF  MARQUIS.    1  00 

DIANA  OF  MERIDOR 1  00 

THE  THREE  GUARDSMEN....        75 

TWENTY  YEARS  AFTER 75 

BRA  GELONNE,  SON  OF  A  TnOS   75 

CAMILLE,  CAMELIA  LADY....    1  50 

Above  are  in  pajter  cover, 

EDMOND  DANTES. 75 

THE  FALLEN  ANGEL 75 

FEL1NA  DE  CHAMBURE. 75 

THE  HORRORS  OF  PARIS.....  75 

SKETCHES  IN  FRANCE 75 

ISABEL  OF  BAVARIA 75 

THE   CORSICA N    BROTHERS  50 

THE  COUNT  OF  MORET. 50 


MEMOIRS   OF  A  PHYSICIAN.  $1  00 

THE  QUEEN'S  NECKLACE.....  100 

SLY  YEARS  LATER 1  00 

COUNTESS  DE  CHARNY 1  00 

ANDREE  DE  TAVERNEY. 1  00 

FORTY-FIVE  GUARDSMEN...  75 

THE  IRON  HAND 75 

THE  CHEVALIER 1  00 

THE  CONSCRIPT. 1  50 

or  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each. 

MAN  WITH  FIVE  WIVES. 75 

THE  TWIN  LIEUTENANTS....  75 
ANNETTE,  LADY  OF  PEARLS.    50 

MOHICANS  OF  PARIS 50 

GEORGE;  OR  THE  PLANTER 

OF  THE  ISLE  OF  FRANCE.  50 

THE  MARRIAGE  VERDICT....  50 

BURIED  ALIVE 25 


Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Copies  of  any  or 
all  of  the  above  books  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  post- 
age pre-paid,  oh  receipt  of  their  price  by  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


CONTENTS. 


rolotrtu. 


Chapter  Page 

I. — HOW  M.  DUMAS   CAME    TO   WRITE  THESE   MEMOIRS  23 

A  MAN   OF   THE   PEOPLE. 

(RENE    BESSOX.) 

I.— CONCERNING     HIS     PARENTAGE     AND     HIS     EARLY 

YOUTH 27 

II. — THE   FIRST   SEEDS   OF    A   POLITICAL   FAITH 82 

III. — A  STRANGER  OF   INFLUENCE  TURNS    UP 34 

IV. — I   EDUCATE   MYSELF  FOR  CONTINGENCIES 39 

V. — I   BREAK   WITH  THE   ARISTOCRACY 41 

VI. — THE  NATION   AND  THE  BASTILLE. — VERDICT  FOR 

THE   FORMER 44 

VII. — CONCERNING   THE  BASTILLE 48 

VIII. — THE   DUKE  D'ENGHIEN'S   LAST  DAY'S   SPORT 51 

IX. — I   GO  TO   MAKE   CAPTIVES   AND   AM  TAKEN  CAP-... 

TI VE   MYSELF 56 

X. — TOUCHING   MADEMOISELLE   SOPHIE 66 

XI. — WHAT  "  BROTHERHOOD  "  MEANT 70 

XII. — WHAT   PASSED   IN  THE   FOREST 75 

XIII. — THE   PEOPLE   IN  COUNCIL 79 

XIV. — MY   NEW   PARISIAN     FRIENDS S3 

XV. — I   GO   TO   THE   JACOBINS'   CLUB 88 

XVI. — PARIS   BEFORE  THE   REVOLUTION 93 

XVII. — I   ATTEND   A  MEETING   AT   THE   CORDELIERS 93 


20  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  rage 

XVIII. — THE    II  -MAI. i:    ELEMENT   IN   POLITICS 102 

XIX.— THE    FIELD   OF  THE    FEDERATION 106 

XX.— I    GO    BACK   AGAIN 11C 

XXI. — I   EXCHANGE    MV    GUN    FOR   THE   PLANE 115 

XXIL— MY   NEW   LIFE   UNDER    SOPHIE'S    FATHER 117 

XXIIL— THE   ARRIVAL   OF   THE     DRAGOONS 122 

XXIV. — THE   NIGHT  OF  THE  21ST  OF  AUGUST,  1791 128 

XXV. — THE  TRAGEDY  OF    ROYALTY  BEGINS 134 

XXVI. — WHAT    HAPPENED    AT    PARIS    BEFORE    THE    DE- 
PARTURE    145 

XXVII. — HOW  THEY    SET    OUT 148 

XXVIIL— THE    ROAD 155 

XXIX. — STILL  IN   FLIGHT 106 

XXX. — WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  GROCER'S   LITTLE  SHOP   175 

XXXI. — THE   RETURN   OF   ROYALTY   IN    ARREST 180 

XXXIL— WHAT  M.  DE   BOUILLE   DID  IN  THE   MEANTIME...    187 

XXXIII. — AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE    TURNS    UP 189 

XXXIV. — THE   CRITICS  CRITICISED 195 

XXXV. — IS   LOVE    ETERNAL 19G 

XXXVI.— BARN  AVE  AND   PETION 202 

XXXVII.— PARIS 206 

XXXVIII. — I   RESUME   MY  ORIGINAL   PROFESSION 212 

XXXIX.— TOUCHING  THE    PRINCESS   LAMBALLE 219 

XL. — THE   TIDE    RISES 224 

XLI. — CONCERNING  THE   BILL  OF   FORFEITURE 229 

XLIL — WHAT  TOOK  PLACE   BETWEEN  THE  HAIRDRESSER 

AND   THE     INVALID 234 

XLIII. — THE   RED    FLAG 239 

XLIV. — THE   MASSACRE   OF  THE   CHAMP    DE  MARS 245 

XLV. — ROBESPIERRE    PAYS  A  VISIT    TO  M.   DUPLAY 249 

XL  VI. — INSTALLATION 254 

XL VII. — A  BREAK 259 

XLVIII. — THE  THREAT  IS   LOUDER 265 

XLIX. — THE  KING   QUITS   THE    TUILERIES 274 

L. — THE   MASSACRES    OF   SEPTEMBER 281 


CONTENTS.  21 

Chapter  rage 

LI. — THE   KING'S  TRIAL   PROCEEDED  WITH 21)7 

MI. — NEAR   THE     BLOCK 307 

Mil. — THE   SACRIFICE   OF    BEOOD 315 

LIV.— EXECUTION   OF     LOUIS   XVI 323 

LV. — WHAT     FOLLOWS 327 

L VI.— THE   REIGN   OF  TERROR 330 

LVII. — WHOLESALE    MASSACRE 336 

LVIII. — MARIE    ANTOINETTE 346 

LIX. — MARIE     ANTOINETTE   FINDS   PEACE   AT  LAST 349 

LX. — THE    TWENTY-TWO 356 

LXI. — THE     RED    FLAG 360 

LXIL— THE   BLOOD    OF    WOMEN 365 

LXIIL— ROBESPIERRE   FALLS 370 


LOVE   AND   LIBEHTY. 


jwlcrmw. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW   M.    DUMAS    CAME   TO   WRITE   THESE   MEMOIRS. 

Of  all  the  remarkably  interesting  events  connected  with 
the  French  Revolution,  perhaps  the  one  most  worthy  of 
notice  is  the  flight  of  Louis  XVI,  and  his  capture  at  Var- 
ennes. 

At  the  time  when  I  determined  to  take  the  trip  of  which 
I  will  give  you  some  details,  and  which  put  me  in  posses- 
sion of  the  memoirs  I  am  about  to  publish — that  is  to  say, 
about  the  19th  of  June,  1856 — I  had  read  almost  all  that 
had  been  written  concerning  the  above-mentioned  flight. 

I  wish  to  start  from  Chalons,  because  from  the  fact  of 
the  King  being  recognized  there,  came  the  train  of  events 
which  ended  at  Varennes  on  the  evening  of  his  arrest. 

The  capture  of  Louis  at  Varennes  was  the  culminating 
point  of  royalty.  For  although  it  took  seven  hundred  and 
four  years  to  arrive  at  Varennes,  it  took  but  nineteen 
months  to  descend  from  Varennes  to  the  Place  de  la  Revo- 
lution. 

It  is  not  because  the  heads  of  three  persons,  who  were 
in  the  carriage  that  took  royalty  to  the  precipice,  fell  on 
the  scaffold,  that  we  mark  out  the  event  as  the  greatest  in 
the  French  Revolution,  and,  indeed,  in  the  whole  history 
of  France.     No  !     It  is  because  the  arrest  of  the  King  in 

(23) 


24  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

the  little  town  of  Varennes,  unknown  on  the  22nd  of  June, 
and  on  the  morrow  fatally  immortalized,  was  the  source  of 
the  political  convulsions  which  have  since  occurred. 

My  resolution  to  go  to  Varennes  once  taken,  I  started 
from  Paris  on  the  19th  of  June,  1856,  and  on  the  20th  of  the 
same  month,  at  one  o'clock  next  morning,  I  arrived  at  Cha- 
lons. 

I  was,  as  you  know,  in  search  of  details  actually  seen  by 
eye-witnesses.  I  soon  discovered  two  old  men  who  could 
give  me  the  necessary  information.  One  was  a  Monsieur 
Ricaise,  at  Chalons — one  of  the  postilions  who  drove  the 
King;  the  other,  Monsieur  Mathieu,  notary,  at  St.  Merie- 
hould,  who  had  seen  the  horses  changed  at  the  moment 
that  Drouet  recognized  the  King. 

But  it  was  especially  necessary  to  discover  some  one  at 
Varennes  who  remembered  some  incidents  connected  with 
the  affair ;  because  at  Varennes  occurred  the  most  dramatic 
part  of  the  whole  catastrophe. 

I  first  asked  a  keeper  of  the  records  whether  he  knew 
any  one  who  had  seen  the  King,  and  assisted  to  arrest 
him  ? 

He  mentioned  Colonel  Rene  Besson. 

I  asked  him  to  give  me  his  address. 

"  I  will  do  better,"  said  he, — "  I  will  take  you  to  him." 

At  the  very  moment  that  we  entered  by  the  Rue  de 
l'Horloge,  that  place  where  Louis  XVI  was  arrested,  which, 
singularly  enough,  has  the  shape  of  the  axe  of  the  guil- 
lotine, my  guide  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Eh  !  "  said  he  ;  "  here  is  the  very  man  we  want." 

And  he  showed  me,  at  the  corner  of  the  Place  Latry  and 
the  Rue  de  la  Basse,  a  fine  old  man,  warming  himself  in 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  sitting  in  a  large  arm-chair  before 
his  door. 

It  was  Colonel  Rene  Besson. 

We  drew  near  to  him. 

Imagining  that  we  had  some  business  with  him,  he 
arranged  himself  more  comfortably  in  his  chair,  and  waited 
an  explanation. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  is  it  you,  Monsieur  Leduc  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,  Colonel,  it  is  I ;  and  in  good  company,  too,  as  you 
may  see,"  my  companion  replied. 

"  Colonel,"  I  call  on  you  in  right  of  being  the  son  of 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  25 

one  of  your  old  companions  in  arms  ;  for  you  took  a  part 
in  the  Egyptian  campaign,  under  General  Desaix?" 
''  Yes,  sir,  I  did,"  answered  he. 

c  The  fact  of  heing  the  son  of  an  old  companion  in 
arms,"  I  continued,  "  and  of  bearing  the  name  of  the  con- 
queror of  Murad  Bey,  induced  me  to  take  the  liberty  of 
callhgon  3*ou,  and  asking  for  information  on  certain  points. 
To  commence.     Were  you  at  the  battle  of  Valmy  ?  " 

"  lwas  with  my  regiment  six  days  before,  on  the  2nd  of 
Septenber ;  and  I  just  missed  leaving  my  bones  at  La 
Force,  in  trying  to  rescue  a  woman — a  princess,  I  should 
say." 

"  Tin  Princess  Lamballe  ?  " 
"  Exactly  so." 

"At  ibis  period,  I  was  living  then,  in   the  Rue   Saint 
Honore  ^ith  the  carpenter,  Duplay." 
"You  lave  seen  Robespierre,  then?" 
"Just  a\  I  have  you.     It  was  I  who  made   the  table  on 
which  he  \yote  the  greater  part  of  his  speeches." 
"  And  Dinton  ?  " 

"Danton",  It  was  he  who  enrolled  me  on  the  2nd  of 
September.  But  I  knew  Danton,  as  you  say,  and  Camilles 
Desmoulins,  ^iint  Just,  and  afterwards,  later  on,  the  Duke 
D'Enghien,  anl  even  Marshal  Ney." 

"  You  have  $en  the  Duke  D'Enghien  ?  " 
"  I  was  secrecy  to  the  Minister  of  War  who  sentenced 
him." 

"  And  also  MaWl  iSTey  ?  " 

"  It  was  he  \ko  made  me  lieutenant-colonel  in  the 
retreat  from  Mosc<W." 

"  I  will  never  l<We  you,  Colonel ;  I  will  be  your  secre- 
tary, and  we  will  wtte  your  memoirs." 

"  You  are  too  lateA  said  he,  laughing  ;  "  my  memoirs  are 
already  three-fourths\nished." 

"  What?     Do  you  \ean  to  say  you  have  written " 

"  Oh,  simply  to  amu^  myself:  and  there  is  my  secretary. 
Hush  ! "  \ 

At  this  moment  the  <W  opened,  and  a  beautiful  girl  of 
seventeen  or  eighteen  ca'te  towards  us. 
"  Is  that  your  secretary^  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  Marie,  my  dear\jttle  granddaughter."  Bow  to 
Monsieur.  You  ought  to,  after  the  sleepless  nights  you 
have  passed  through  thinkijv  0f  him." 


26  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

"  I  ? "  said  the   girl,  blushing.      "  I  do  not  know  ;he 
gentleman  !  " 

"  But  you  know  '  Monte   Christo  '  and  the  '  Three  JIus- 
keteers  ?  '" 

"  Monsieur  Dumas  !     Is  it  possible  ?  "  cried  she. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Dumas.     You  see  that  you  know  iim." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !  " 

"  You  will  be   my   accomplice,  then,   against    thf    Col- 
onel ?  " 

"  Against  my  grandfather  ?  " 

"Yes.     He  has  written  some  memoirs." 

"  I  know  that.     It  is  I  who  write  from  his  dictation." 

"  Ah  !  they  are  worth  reading." 

"  Oh,  grandpapa,  Monsieur  Dumas  says   that  your  me- 
moirs are  worth  reading  !  " 

"  If  he  wishes  to  read  them,  I  shall  not  hnder  him," 
said  the  Colonel." 

"  Will  you  really  permit  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  If  I  refused  you,  I  should  be  attaching  toomuch  impor- 
tance to  them." 

"  Colonel,  I  am  like  the  gamin  of  Pari?  of  Monsieur 
Vanderburch — I  should  like  to  embrace  you/ 

"  Embrace  my  secretary  ;  that  will  give  pore  pleasure  to 
both  of  you." 

I  looked  at  Marie  and  she  blushed  as  rei  as  a  cherry. 
"  Mademoiselle  !  "  I  said,  imploringly. 

She  held  up  her  cheeks  to  me. 

I  took  her  hands  in  mine,  and  looked  it  her  intently. 

"  Has  Mademoiselle,"  I  asked  the  Colonel,  "  a  page  in 
your  memoirs  ?  " 

"  The  last — a  white  page.  But  Mffie  has  something  to 
tell  me.     What  is  it,  my  child  ?  " 

"  That  supper  is  ready,  grandpapa' 

"  You  hear.     Have  you  an  appetie  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  I  have  just  dinei.  " 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  clink  glsses  with  you." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  breakfay  with  you  to-morrow,  in- 
stead ?  You  see,  I  am  taking  a'iberty  with  you  already. 
Mademoiselle  can  give  me  the  memoirs  this  evening.  I 
will  read  them  to-night,  and  refcrn  them  to-morrow." 

"What!  read  them  to-niglc  ?  How  many  pages  are 
there,  Marie?" 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  27 

"  Seven  or  eight  hundred,  grandfather,"  replied  the 
young  girl. 

"  Seven  or  eight  hundred  pages  !  If  you  will  permit  me, 
I  will  copy  them." 

Well,  the  Colonel  allowed  me  to  copy  from  his  manu- 
script all  that  bad  reference  to  the  arrest  of  the  King  at 
Varennes  ;  and  when  he  died,  left  me  sole  possessor  of  his 
memoirs. 

Colonel  Rene  Besson  has  been  gathered  to  his  fathers 
three  months  since,  at  the  good  old  age  of  eighty-seven. 
He  died,  on  a  beautiful  sunlit  afternoon,  when  the  mellow 
tints  of  autumn  were  melting  into  the  snowy  wreaths  of 
winter.     Peace  be  with  him. 

Eight  days  after  his  death,  I  received  the  manuscript, 
with  a  letter  frcm  Marie,  who  has  become  one  of  the  most 
charming  girls  1  ever  met  with. 

The  manuscript  I  now  publish,  is  that  of  Colonel  Rene 
de  Besson  ;  and  I  give  it  the  title  that  was  chosen  by  him. 
(Signed)  Alexandre  Dumas. 


A  MAN   OF  THE  PEOPLE. 

(RENE    BESSON.) 


CHAPTER  I. 

CONCERNING   HIS    PARENTAGE   AND    EARLY   YOUTH. 

I  was  born  in  the  village  of  Islettes,  on  the  banks  of  a 
little  river  called  the  Biesme,  in  the  Forest  of  Argonne, 
situated  between  St.  Menehould  and  Clermont,  on  the  14th 
of  Jul}',  in  the  year  1775. 

I  never  had  the  happiness  to  experience  a  mother's  love; 
she  survived  but  a  few  days  after  my  birth.  My  father, 
who  was  a  poor  carpenter,  out-stayed  her  loss  but  five 
years. 

At  five  years  of  age,  therefore,  I  was  an  orphan,  without 
a  friend  in  the  world. 


28  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

I  am  wrong  and  ungrateful  to  say  that.  I  had  one — my 
uncle,  my  mother's  brother,  who  hud  the  post  of  keeper  in 
the  Forest  of  Argonne.  His  wife,  on  my  mother's  death, 
supplied  her  place  ;  and  he,  on  the  death  of  my  father, 
found  me  bread. 

My  father  died  so  poor,  that  all  had  to  be  sold  to  pay  his 
little  debts,  with  the  exception  of  his  box  of  carpenter's 
tools,  which  had  be<m  taken  to  Father  Descharmes  (that 
was  my  uncle's  name),  and  placed  out  of  sight  in  a  little 
room  belonging  to  me. 

The  Forest  of  Argonne  was  Government  property,  and 
was  preserved  for  the  pleasure  of  the  nobles  attendant  on 
the  Court ;  but  that  did  not  hinder  the  young  people  of  the 
environs  from  coming  secretly  with  the  keepers,  to  enjoy  a 
little  sport  with  the  deer  and  the  hares. 

There  was  one,  who  took  part  in  these  hunting  parties, 
whom  I  knew  well — Jean  Baptiste  Drouet,  son  of  a  post- 
master at  St.  Menehould  ;  also  William,  a  friend  of  his  ; 
and  one  Billaut,  who  afterwards  took  the  name  of  his  native 
place,  and  called  himself  Billaut  Varennes. 

All  three  were  to  acquire  a  certain  celebrity  in  the  mid- 
dle of  those  revolutionary  movements,  still  hidden  in  the 
future. 

Certain  young  noblemen,  by  very  special  favor  received 
privileges  of  game  denied  to  the  outer  world. 

Amongst  the  number  of  those  young  nobles,  was  M.  de 
Dampierre,  the  Count  de  Mamies,  and  the  Viscount  de 
Mai  my. 

The  former  was  at  this  time  a  man  of  about  forty-five 
years,  the  latter  not  over  twenty. 

I  select  these  out  of  the  number,  because  they  will  play 
leading  parts  in  the  events  I  am  about  to  describe. 

Even  when  I  wa3  quite  a  child,  I  learned  the  difference 
that  subsisted  in  their  characters. 

Every  now  and  then,  on  hearing  that  a  herd  of  wild 
boars  had  been  seen  in  the  forest,  or  tl  at  the  snowstorm 
had  driven  out  the  wolves,  a  courier  would  arrive  from 
Paris,  and  announce  "  The  gentlemen  of  the  Court." 

Then  it  was  that  the  fun  took  place. 

If  it  were  summer,  a  tent  was  pitched,  in  which  the  gen- 
tlemen took  their  meals. 

If  it  were  winter,   they  stopped  at  St.   Menehould,  and 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  29 

put  up  at  the  "  Hotel  de  Metz,"  making  a  rendezvous  with 
the  keepers  at  daybreak  at  a  likely  spot  for  wild  boars  or 
wolves.  When  there,  the  dogs  were  unleashed,  and  the 
sport  commenced. 

When  they  went,  awa}',  they  would  leave  twenty  or 
twenty-five  louis  to  be  divided  among  the  keepers. 

In  general,  these  nobles  of  the  Court  were  exceedingly 
polite  towards  the  underlings.  Twice  the  Prince  de  Conde 
and  his  son,  the  Duke  D'Enghien  came. 

On  such  occasions,  being,  as  it  were,  high  holiday,  I 
would  follow  the  sportsmen.  Once  when  the  Duke  D'  En- 
ghien  lost  his  way,  I  put  him  right,  and  he  offered  me  a 
louis.    I  refused  it.    (  I  was  only  nine  j'ears  old.) 

He  looked  at  me  with  astonishment,  and  asked  my  name, 

"  Rene  Besson.  I  am  the  nephew  of  Father  Descharmes," 
I  replied. 

"  Good,  my  boy,"  said  he  ;  "I  won't  forget  thee  ! " 

Two  years  afterwards  the  Prince  came  back.  I  was  then 
eleven,  and  thought  that  he  must  have  lost  all  remembrance 
of  me. 

But  he  had  not ;  and  he  came  to  me. 

"Ah,  art  thou  not  Rene  Besson?"  he  said.  "Nephew 
of  Father  Descharmes?" 

"  Yes,  Prince." 

"  Then  here  is  something  for  thee,"  said  he,  giving  me  a 
gun.  "  And  this  is  for  thy  uncle,"  he  continued,  handing 
me  a  folded  paper. 

This  paper  contained  the  appointment  of  my  uncle  to  the 
vacant  post  of  chief  huntsman. 

As  for  the  gun,  it  was  a  beautiful  weapon,  and  I  have 
carefully  kept  it  through  my  career,  in  memory  of  the 
unfortunate  Prince  who  gave  it. 

In  the  meantime  I  was  growing  up.  I  had  learned  to 
read  and  write  indifferently  well ;  and  whilst  my  uncle  was 
busy  in  his  vocation,  I  used  to  occupy  myself  with  carpentry, 
a  calling  for  which  I  evinced  much  aptitude  and  taste. 

I  was  now  twelve  years  of  age.  I  knc\v,  every  inch  of 
the  Forest  of  Argonne,  and  I  was  as  good  a  shot  as  any  of 
the  keepers,  and  my  sole  ambition  was  to  take  my  uncle's 
place  when  he  resigned,  which  he  intended  to  do  in  four  or 
five  years. 

There  was  a  place,  however,  left  vacant  by  the  resigna- 


30  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

tion  of  a  keeper,  which  I  thought  would  just  suit  me  for 
the  time ;  and  I  determined  to  solicit  the  patronage  of  the 
Duke  D'Enghien. 

Time  passed  on,  and  we  arrived  at  the  opening  of  the 
year  1788. 

For  five  years  we  had  not  seen  M.  Drouet,  for,  after  a 
quarrel  with  his  father,  he  had  enlisted  in  the  Queen's 
Dragoons. 

One  fine  morning,  however,  we  heard  from  his  friend 
William  that  Father  Drouet  had  become  reconciled  to  him, 
and  had  resigned  to  him  his  situation  of  postmaster. 

One  day,  we  saw  a  dragoon  stop  in  front  of  our  house, 
get  off  his  horse,  fasten  his  bridle  to  a  ring,  and  then  come 
tramping  up  to  the  door. 

"  Well,  Father  Descharmes,"  said  the  soldier,  "haven't 
you  a  glass  of  wine  in  the  house  for  an  old  friend  ?  " 

My  uncle  looked  at  him  amazed. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  I ;  "  don't  you  recognize  him,  uncle  ?  It  is 
Monsieur  Jean  Baptiste." 

"  Well,  I  never — so  it  is !  "  cried  my  uncle,  coming  for- 
ward with  outstretched  hands. 

But,  stopping  for  a  moment,  he  added,  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Monsieur  Drouet." 

"Pardon  for  what? — for  remembering  a  friend?  The 
fault  would  have  been  to  forget  him.  Come,  shake  hands 
Are  not  all  Frenchmen  brothers  ?  " 

"  They  are ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  there  are  great  and 
small." 

"  Good !  but,  in  two  or  three  years,  I  will  say  to  you, 
'  There  are  neither  great  nor  small.  All  are  children  of  one 
mother,  and  all  will  have  their  rights  before  man,  as  before 
heaven." 

"  Ha !  Is  that  the  sort  of  schooling  they  give  you  in 
the  Queen's  Dragoons,  Monsieur  Jean  Baptiste  ?  " 

"  Not  only  in  the  Queen's  Dragoons,  but  in  all  other 
regiments,  old  Nimrod." 

My  uncle  took  three  glasses  from  the  cupboard,  filled 
two,  and  half-filled  the  other  for  me. 

Drouet  took  up  his  glass. 

"  To  the  nation  !  "  said  he. 

"  What  is  that  word  ?  "  inquired  my  uncle. 

<(  It  is  a  new  one,  which  I  hope  will  yet  gain,  the  rights 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  31 

of  the  middle  classes.  That  youngster  there ;  what  are 
you  going  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  Make  him  my  successor." 

Drouet  shook  his  head. 

"  My  good  old  Descharmes  !  "  said  he,  "  you  belong  to 
the  past.  Better  far  an  independent  and  honorable  posi- 
tion for  a  man,  than  to  wear  a  livery  which,  no  matter  how 
gay  it  is,  puts  you  at  the  mercy  of  the  first  whipper- 
snapper  that  comes.     I  thought  Bene  was  a  carpenter?  " 

"  So  I  am,  Monsieur  Jean  Baptiste  ;  but  I  onby  play  at 
joiner  work." 

"  Nay,  look  you  here  ! "  said  my  uncle,  proud  to  be  able 
to  show  some  of  my  handiwork.  "  Here  is  a  wardrobe  the 
youngster  has  made." 

Drouet  went  forward,  and  examined  the  construction  in 
question  with  more  interest  than  it  deserved. 

"  Good — very  good ! "  he  said.  "  Go  on  as  you  are 
doing,  my  boy;  and,  believe  me,  it  is  far  better  to  work  for 
the  public,  than  to  be  a  game-keeper  dependent  on  a 
prince,  liable  to  be  turned  away  should  a  wild  boar  make 
an  unforseen  bolt,  or  a  wolf  force  the  line  of  beaters." 

"  But,"  answered  I,  "  you  must  know  that  I  have  a  gun, 
Monsieur  Jean  Baptiste  ;  and  a  gun,  too,  given  me  by  the 
Duke  D'Enghien." 

And  saying  this,  I  showed  him  the  cherished  weapon, 
with  as  much  pride  as  my  uncle  had  displayed  in  exhibit- 
ing my  efforts  at  wardrobe  making. 

"  A  pretty  gun,"  he  said,  looking  at  it  attentively  ; 
"  and  I  see  that  it  bears  the  royal  mark.  If  you  take  my 
advice,  you  will  not  hesitate  between  the  plane  which  your 
father  left  you,  and  a  gun  which  a  prince  gave  you.  The 
carpenter's  plane  is  the  bread-winner  that  the  philosopher 
of  Geneva  put  into  the  hands  of  his  favorite  pupil ;  and 
ever  since  the  day  that  '  Emile '  appeared,  the  plane  has 
been  ennobled." 

"  What  is  '  Emile,'  Monsieur  Jean  Baptiste  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  is  the  work  of  one  who  teaches  that  all  men  are 
citizens  together,  and  that  all  citizens  are  brothers.  Keep 
your  gun,  Bene,  to  preserve  your  country  ;  but  also  keep 
your  plane  to  preserve  your  independence.  Be  a  carpenter 
to  the  people  at  large,  my  boy ;  but  be  no  one's  servant, 
not  even  if  he  be  a  prince.  The  first  opportunity  I  have, 
I  will  send  you  '  Emile '  to  read." 


32  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

So  saying,  and  squeezing  the  hand  of  his  old  friend, 
M.  Jean  Baptiste  remounted  his  horse.  As  I  held  his 
stirrup  he  lifted  me  gently  to  his  saddle  how,  and  placed 
his  hand  on  my  head. 

"Rene  Besson,"  he  said,  with  dignity,  "in  the  name  of 
that  grand  future  of  liberty,  with  which  France  is  even 
now  in  travail,  I  baptize  thee  citizen." 

Then  relinquishing  me,  and  striking  his  spurs  into  his 
horse,  he  disappeared  down  the  forest. 

Next  day  a  messenger  came  from  M.  Jean  Baptiste 
Drouet,  who,  faithful  to  his  promise  of  the  night  before, 
sent  me  a  little  book,  with  these  words  written  on  the  first 
page— 

"  To  the  Citizen  Bene  Besson,  carpenter." 

The  little  book  in  question  was  "  Emile." 


<  ■»»■»—>- 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   FIRST    SEEDS    OF   A   POLITICAL   FAITH. 

When  I  came  to  examine  the  book  which  M.  Jean  Bap- 
tiste had  sent  me,  and  the  title  of  which  was  "  Emile,  or 
Education,"  I  sought  out  the  chapter  which  had  direct 
reference  to  my  own  case. 

In  the  course  of  my  search  I  came  across  the  following 
paragraph : — 

"  It  is  my  positive  desire  that  Emilie  should  learn  a 
trade.  An  honest  one,  at  least,  you  will  perhaps  say. 
What  means  that  ?  Every  calling  useful  to  the  public  is 
an  honest  one,  is  it  not?  I  don't  wish  particularly  that  he 
should  be  a  carver  and  gilder,  neither  do  I  particularly  care 
that  he  should  be  an  actor,  or  a  musician.  Still,  let  him 
adopt  any  one  of  those  professions,  or  others  resembling 
them,  that  he  may  fancy.  I  do  not  wish  to  fetter  his  will 
in  anything,  only  I  would  rather  he  was  a  shoemaker  than 
a  poet,  and  would  much  prefer  him  to  earn  his  livelihood  by 
paving-stones  than  by  porcelain." 

I  read  over  and  over  again,  the  paragraph  which  opened 
up  this  train  of  thought ;  and  at  last,  I  understood  it. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  33 

Let  no  one  be  astonished  that  my  intelligence  was  so 
Blow.  Taken  up  as  I  was  until  I  had  reached  at  this  time, 
my  fourteenth  year,  with  the  usual  jog-trot  of  rustic  occu- 
pations, my  mind  had  remained  in  a  sort  of  twilight. 

I  continued  my  reading. 

"  The  needle  and  the  sword  can  never  he  wielded  by  the 
same  hand.  If  I  were  a  king,  I  would  only  permit  the  ell, 
tbe  wand,  and  the  shears,  to  women,  and  to  maimed  men, 
equally  feeble  with  the  weaker  sex.  I  would  forbid  callings 
against  health,  but  not  those  which  are  simply  laborious,  or 
even  dangerous,  for  those  demand  at  once  both  strength 
and  courage.  Everything  considered,  the  trade  whi".h  I 
should  like  a  pupil  of  mine  to  adopt  of  himself  would  be 
that  of  a  carpenter." 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  "  what  a  good  fellow  this  Monsieur  Rosseau 
is !     How  I  do  like  him  !  " 

I  tackled  to  my  book  again. 

"  Touching  a  carpenter's  trade,  it  is  a  tidy  calling:  it  is 
useful ;  you  can  follow  it  in  the  house  ;  it  requires  both 
skill  and  industry ;  whilst  the  exercise  of  taste  is  not  ex- 
cluded from  the  articles  it  turns  out." 

So,  then,  I  was  precisely  in  the  state  recommended  by 
the  author  of  "  Emile." 

Not  only  that,  but  I  did  not  even  require  to  learn  the 
trade  he  praised ;  I  knew  it  already.  I  read  on  as 
follows  : — 

"  Of  all  states  and  conditions  of  life,  the  most  independ- 
ent is  that  of  a  mechanic.  A  mechanic  is  dependent  upon 
his  work  only  ;  he  is  just  so  much  free  as  an  agricultural 
laborer  is  a  slave ;  for  the  latter  can  only  prepare  the  field, 
and  leave  the  product  thereof  to  fate.  A  foe — a  powerful 
neighbor — a  law-suit,  can  deprive  him  of  his  field  ;  in  fact, 
that  very  field  can  be  made  to  vex  him  in  a  thousand  dif- 
ferent ways.  But,  if  fate  disturbs  a  mechanic,  he  gathers 
his  tools  together,  and,  carrying  his  sturdy  arms  with  him, 
away  he  goes." 

At  this  point,  I  looked  at  my  own  arms,  already  muscular 
and  well-developed,  and  I  swung  them  in  the  air  with  pride. 
Evidently  the  man  was  right  who  wrote  those  lines.   • 

I  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  ;  and  rushing  into  my  little  work- 
shop, I  hugged  severally  to  my  bosom  my  hammers,  my 
planes,  and  my  chisels.  Then,  strong  with  a  new  strength, 
o 


34  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

I  felt  irresistibly  impelled  to  rush  off  at  once,  and  thank 
M.  Jean  Baptiste  Drouet  for  lending  me  the  precious  book. 
St.  Menehould  was  exactly  three  miles  away,  and  it  was 
on]y  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  could  easily  be  home 
again  by  five  or  six,  and  my  good  uncle  would  not  make 
himself  uneasy  at  my  absence.  Besides,  I  was  quite  sure 
that  he  would  approve  of  my  errand. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    STRANGER    OF    TNFUENCE    TURNS    UP. 

Out  I  set  at  once,  taking  my  book  with  me,  to  read  on 
the  way  ;  and  so  interesting  did  I  find  the  adventures  of 
"  Emile,"  that  I  found  myself  near  my  friend's  house 
actually  without  being  aware  of  it. 

In  the  distance  I  could  see  M.  Jean  Baptiste  superin- 
tending some  postilions,  who  were  putting  fresh  horses  to  a 
carriage.     He  was  standing  on  the  threshold  of  his  door. 

Running  up  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  I  cried  out, 
"  Monsieur  Jean  Baptiste,  it's  I !  " 

"  Well,"  he  said,  laughing ;  "  I  am  quite  aware  of  the 
fact.     What  do  you  want,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  want  ?  Oh,  I  want  to  thank  you,  and  to 
tell  .you  that  I  will  never  be  a  keeper.  The  only  calling 
worth  following  is  that  of  a  carpenter,  and  I  mean  to  be 
one,  Monsieur  Drouet." 

The  carriage  went  off. 

"  So  you  have  been  reading  '  Emile  ?  '  "  he  asked,  taking 
me  inside. 

"  Yes  ;  up  to  here."  And  I  showed  him  page  1G0  of  the 
work. 

"  Bravo  ! "  said  Monsieur  Drouet.  "  But  it  is  not 
enough  to  read  ;  you  must  also  understand." 

"  Of  course,  M.  Jean  Baptiste,"  said  I.  "  There  are 
many  things  that  I  cannot  understand,  but  I  always  look 
to  you  for  an  explanation." 

"  So  3rou  are  come  expressly  for  that  ?  " 

*'  No,  M.  Jean  Baptiste.     Not  expressly  for  that,  but  to 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  35 

thank  you  for  your  kindness.  After  my  father,  who  gave 
ine  life — after  my  aunt  and  my  uncle,  who  have  fed  me,  I 
owe  more  to  you  than  to  any  other  person  in  the  world ; 
for  has  not  Rousseau  himself  said  that  every  man  is  horn 
twice — first,  physically,  then  intellectually  ?  And  it  is  you 
who  have  successfully  brought  me  through  this  second 
birth." 

I  must  pass  over  that  afternoon  of  familiar  intercourse 
with  my  mentor  and  my  friend.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  my 
new-born  resolutions  were  strengthened,  my  eyes  still  more 
widely  opened  to  my  own  wants  and  requirements ;  and 
when  I  set  out  on  my  return,  I  felt  that,  indeed,  a  path  had 
been  tracked  for  me  across  the  yet  untrodden  wilderness  of 
life. 

There  are  few  landscapes  so  pretty  in  the  middle  of 
Prance  as  that  which  presents  itself  to  the  eye  on  arriving 
at  the  Forest  of  Argonne. 

This  struck  me  as  it  had  never  done  before,  and  I  paused 
involuntarily  to  gaze  at  the  scene. 

At  this  moment  two  travellers  came  towards  me,  followed 
by  a  carriage  slowly  toiling  up  the  ascent. 

One  of  these  strangers  particularly  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. He  might  he  about  fifty  }'ears  of  age,  of  no  great 
stature,  but  wiry  and  strongly  built.  He  had  a  noble  head, 
and  his  weather-beaten  face  was  lit  by  the  glance  of  an 
eagle.  Had  not  the  scar  of  a  sabre  wound  sufficiently  indi- 
cated his  profession,  I  could  have  told  he  was  a  soldier 
from  the  unmistakable  way  in  which  he  wore  his  civilian's 
suit. 

His  companion,  younger  and  stouter,  was  likewise  a  sol- 
dier ;  but  evidently  not  of  the  same  standing. 

These  two  men  halted  a  moment  near  me,  less  to  look  at 
the  landscape  than  to  continue  an  animated  conversation, 
in  which  the  elder  sustained  the  principal  part. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Thevenot,"  he  said ;  "  I  will  never  give 
in  on  this  point.  If  ever  France  is  invaded  by  Montmedy 
and  Verdun,  it  is  here  that  we  must  meet  the  enemy;  with 
20,000  soldiers  I'll  engage  to  stop  a  foe  80,000  strong.  The 
Forest  of  Argonne  is  the  Thermopylae  of  France." 

"That  is  to  say,  General,"  replied  the  other,  who  looked 
like  his  aide-de-camp,  "  if  th«  two  or  three  roads  through 
the  forest  could  be  defended  as  easily  as  this  one ;  for  it  is 


36  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

quite  evident  that  a  couple  of  batteries  with  six  guns  each 
would  make  this  defile  impracticable." 

"  There  are  only  two  roads,"  returned  the  General ;  "the 
one  we  are  now  pursuing,  leading  to  Islettes;  and  the 
other,  the  Grand  Pies  road.  Both  these  routes  conjoin  at 
Verdun." 

"  I  thought  there  was  a  third — namely,  the  Chene- 
Populeux  road." 

"  I  don't  think  that  road  leads  through  the  forest  at  all ; 
but  I  will  ask  our  driver." 

The  General  did  so. 

The  bumpkin  only  shook  his  head. 

"  I  only  know,"  he  said,  "  the  road  I'm  accustomed  to 
travel,  and  that's  not  it.  Beyond  that,  I  can't  tell  }'ou 
anything;  but,"  he  added,  nodding  towards  me,  "  if  you 
want  to  know  all  about  this  part  of  the  country,  why, 
there's  the  nephew  of  Father  Descharmes,  wdio  knows  it  all 
blindfold.  Hilloa,  boy  !  come  and  speak  to  these  gentle- 
men ! " 

I  approached,  cap  in  hand,  for  the  look  of  the  elder 
traveller  inspired  me  with  respect. 

"  Friend,"  said  the  General,  seeing  that  I  waited  till  he 
spoke  to  me  ;  "  we  want  to  know  where  the  Chene-Populeux 
road  leads  from,  and  if  it  takes  }-ou  through  the  forest,  or 
round  by  the  outskirts  ?  " 

"  It  leads  from  Stenay,  monsieur,  takes  round  by  the 
forest,  and  opens  upon  Voneg,  at  the  Biver  Aisne." 

uAh,  now  we  have  it,  Thuvenot ;  but  as,  so  far  as  I  can 
remember,  the  Chene-Populeux  road  is  only  a  narrow  defile, 
I  still  hold  my  original  opinion." 

"  Will  you  get  in  now,  gentlemen  ?  "  asked  the  postilion. 
"  My  horses  are  well  breathed  by  this  time." 

"  Thank  you,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  General,  waving 
his  hand  towards  me.  But  just  as  he  had  his  foot  on  the 
step  the  distant  sound-  of  an  alarm-bell,  violently  rung, 
came  through  the  stillness. 

"  What  is  that?  "  cried  the  General. 

"A  fire  atthe  village  of  Islettes,"  said  I.  "Look  !  you 
can  see  the  smoke  above  the  trees  !  " 

And,  without  any  further  speculation,  off  I  ran  towards 
the  village.  The  General  called  after  me,  but  I  did  not 
stop  to  listen. 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  61 

However,  before  I  had  gone  a  hundred  yards,  the  carriage 
rattled  past  me  at  a  gallop.  The  General,  evidently  moved 
by  a  humane  motive,  was  hastening,  like  myself,  towards 
the  scene  of  the  catastrophe,  where  I  soon  arrived. 

All  the  village  was  astir,  and  I  found  the  General  and 
his  companion  had  taken  command  of  the  rustics,  just  as 
they  would  of  an  army  on  the  field  of  battle. 

The  fire  had  broken  out  in  the  workshop  of  a  cart-wright. 
The  fiery  element  had  attacked  an  adjacent  shed  full  of 
wood,  and  threatened  to  reduce  the  neighboring  house  to 
ashes. 

Xow,  at  Islettes,  fire-engines  were  unknown,  and  I  need 
scarcely  say  that  handing  along  little  buckets  of  water 
from  the  river  was  by  no  means  an  effectual  remedy. 

"  We  must  cut  off  the  fire  ! "  shouted  the  General. 

"  But  how  ?  "  returned  the  peasants. 

"  I  want  somebody,"  cried  the  General,  "  who  will  get 
up  upon  the  roof  of  that  shed,  and  cut  away  the  principal 
support.     The  post  will  fall,  and  carry  the  roof  with  it." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  a  voice  ;  "  and  the  somebody  in  ques- 
tion will  go  down  with  the  roof!  " 

"  Very  likely  !  "  acquiesced  the  General,  calmly  ;  "  but 
the  fire  will  be  smothered,  and  the  rest  of  the  village 
saved." 

At  that  moment,  a  certain  passage  from  "  Emile  "  flash- 
ed across  my  mind. 

"Give  me  an  axe!"  I  cried.  As  I  spoke,  I  saw  one 
leaning  against  a  house  near  which  I  was  standing. 

I  laid  down  my  "Emile"  and  a  dictionary  which  M. 
Jean  Baptiste  had  given  me  ;  seized  the  axe,  and  rushed 
into  the  house  adjacent  to  the  shed.  Already  its  inmates 
were  carrying  out  all  their  little  property,  expecting  every 
instant  that  their  cottage  would  be  in  flames. 

Up  the  little  wooden  stairs  I  rushed,  and  scrambled  out 
on  the  roof  through  a  sort  of  trap-door. 

It  was  my  first  experience  upon  roofs  ;  but  as  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  climbing  trees  up  to  any  height,  a  prome- 
nade on  the  thatch  was  only  child's  play. 

Below,  all  was  hushed  in  anxiet}\  I  could  only  hear  the 
peculiar  billow-like  sounds  of  the  flames,  and  the  fall  of  the 
burning  fragments  as  they  gave  way  under  the  fire. 

Presently  I  found  myself  in  a  dense  atmosphere  of  smoke 


38  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

and  sparks.  I  was  nearly  stifled  ;  but  I  knew  that  all  eyes 
and  hearts  were  fixed  upon  mo,  and  that  gave  me  strength 
to  succeed  or  to  die,  as  it  might  he. 

Supporting  myself  by  the  chimney,  I  commenced  to  cut 
away  a  hole  round  about  the  roof-tree. 

I  was  strong  of  my  age,  and  could  wield  with  dexterity 
the  axe — that  instrument  of  my  adopted  calling ;  but 
though  at  every  blow  the  upright  beam  trembled — on  the 
other  hand,  the  advancing  flame  seemed  to  increase  in  vol- 
ume. 

There  was,  in  a  word,  a  battle  between  me  and  the  flame, 
and  I  felt  proud  to  have  an  element  for  my  foe.  All  at 
once,  the  gable-end  fell  in  with  a  terrible  crash ;  the  other 
supports  of  the  roof  being  weakened  by  my  blows,  gave 
way,  and  the  roof  itself  fell,  smothering,  beneath  the  rag- 
ing flames.  I  flung  the  axe  away  from  me,  and  held  on 
like  grim  death  to  my  chimney.  A  whirlwind  of  smoke 
and  fire  blotted  me  from  the  crowd  below,  and,  half  suffo- 
cated as  I  was,  I  could  still  hear  and  understand  their 
murmur  of  pain  aud  anxiety. 

The  crisis  was  over.  With  one  last  effort  I  struggled  to 
my  trap-door,  and  in  another  moment — I  know  not  how — 
found  myself  safe  and  sound  in  the  open  air. 

Friendly  arms  embraced  me,  and  looking  up,  I  saw  it 
was  the  General,  who  held  in  one  hand  my  precious  books. 
"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  you  are  brave,  and  you  read  Rous- 
seau :  therefore  I  do'  not  offer  you  a  reward.  But  you  will 
be  a  true  man,  and  I  embrace  you." 

And  again  he  pressed  me  in  his  arms. 

By  this  time,  my  uncle,  and,  indeed,  all  the  village,  were 
at  my  side  ;  and  whilst  I  was  receiving  their  congratula- 
tions, the  General  and  his  friend  had  departed.  No  one 
knew  who  they  were. 

This  was  an  important  day  in  my  life  ;  for  I  had  learnt 
to  understand  what  was  conveyed  in  that  most  beautiful  of 
all  human  words — self-devotion. 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  39 

CHAPTER   IV. 

I  EDUCATE    MYSELF    FOR     CONTINGENCIES. 

iNext  day  I  laid  up  for  myself  a  course  of  study — phys- 
ical and  intellectual.  In  the  morning  I  read  and  studied 
my  books ;  during  the  day  I  worked  at  m}^  carpentry  ; 
towards  evening  I  indulged  in  shooting,  in  gymnastics,  and 
sports  of  that  nature  ;  and  at  night  I  again  returned  to  my 
books.     I  improved  every  day. 

About  a  week  after  the  events  of  the  last  chapter, 
M.  Drouet,  and  two  friends  came  to  my  uncle's. 

M.  Drouet  and  his  friends  shook  me  by  the  hand.  He 
asked  me  how  I  was  getting  on,  and  I  told  him  all,  regret- 
ting at  the  same  time  that  I  had  no  money  to  buy  books, 
or  get  instruction  in  Latin. 

"  No  money  !  "  said  Jean  Baptiste.  "  Who  hinders  you 
from  making  it  ?  " 

"  Making  it?  "  I  answered.     "  But  how  ?  " 

"  With  your  plane,  of  course." 

"  But,  Monsieur  Drouet,  I  have  no  customers. 

"  I  will  find  them  for  you." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  To  begin  with,  the  postmaster  of  St.  Menehould,  Jean 
Baptiste  Drouet  by  name.  The  factjis,  I  require  a  quantity 
of  carpentry  work  done  in  my  house,  and  you  must  under- 
take it." 

"  I  am  not  good  enough  workman  for  that,  Monsieur 
Drouet." 

"  But  if  I  find  you  good  enough  ?  " 

"  Then  I  would  not  like  to  take  j'our  money." 

"  Nonsense  !  I  must  get  somebody  to  do  it,  so  that  is 
settled.  Now,  about  the  Latin.  I  will  find  you  a  teacher 
— Monsieur  Fortin,  the  Cure  of  Islettes." 

"  How  will  I  pay  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  that  he  would  take  your  money." 

"  But  I  take  yours,  Monsieur  Drouet." 

"  Ah,  that  is  different.  Government  does  not  pay  me  to 
make  wash-hand-stands,  but  it  does  pay  Abbe  Fortin  to  in- 
struct his  flock  morally  and  intellectually." 


40  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

"I  should  like  to  offer  him  something." 

"  Exactly — not  as  a  right,  but  as  a  graceful  act  of 
courtesy ;  and  as  I  know  the  Father  Foxtiri  does  not 
despise  the  good  things  of  this  life,  you  can  shoot  him  a 
hare  occasionally,  or  knock  him  up  a  cupboard,  to  keep  his 
preserves  in." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Monsieur  Jean  !  " 

"  Listen  !  I  have  it  in  my  mind's  eye  that  you  will  be 
a  soldier — at  all  events,  the  education  necessary  for  an 
officer  will  not  be  thrown  away.  For  six  francs  a  month, 
Bertrand,  of  Islettes,  the  old  soldier,  will  teach  you  fenc- 
ing ;  and,  for  a  trifle  more,  Mathieu,  the  land  surveyor,  at 
Clermout,  will  show  you  how  to  draw  a  plan.  As  for 
horsemanship,  I  will  give  you  the  run  of  my  stable  ;  so, 
there  you  are,  with  your  life-time  all  mapped  out.  Now, 
let  us  to  the  forest." 

At  dinner  that  day,  the  conversation  turned  upon  poli- 
tics, and  particularly  on  the  unpopularity  of  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, the  Queen.  All  this  was  Greek  to  me,  till  M.  Jean 
Baptiste  explained  the  situation  of  affairs. 

Marie  Antoinette,  it  appeared,  daughter  of  the  Austrian, 
Marie  Therese,  and  ancient  enemjT  of  France,  had  been 
accepted  by  the  French  people  as  a  harbinger  of  union  and 
of  peace.     Very  different,  however,  had  been  her  influence. 

In  a  word.  Marie  Therese  hoped  that  Louis  XVI  would 
some  day  aid  her  to  get  back  the  provinces  wrested  from 
her  by  Prussia. 

Until  1778,  Marie  Antoinette  did  not  meddle  with  affairs 
of  state.  Up  to  that  time,  Turgot  was  the  ruling  spirit  ; 
but,  at  last,  he  had  to  succumb  to  that  famous  De  Calone, 
who  used  to  reply  thus  to  the  demands  of  the  Queen  : 
"Madame,  if  it  is  possible,  it  is  already  done;  if  it  is  im- 
possible, it  will  be  done." 

Misrule  went  on.  The  King,  despite  his  impoverished 
treasury,  bought  St.  Cloud  ;  the  Queen,  whilst  her  people 
were  starving,  purchased  Rambouillet,  and  lavished  millions 
of  francs  which  were  not  her  own  upon  her  immediate  fav- 
orites. Scandal  arose  ;  and  when  scandal  gets  into  every- 
body's mouth,  it  is  worse  than  truth. 

M.  de  Calone  resigned.  He  could  not  make  both  ends 
meet. 

The  next  Prime  Minister  was  Brienne,  a  Queen's  favor- 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  41 

ite  ;  and,  when  he  fell,  Paris  was  illuminated  from  the  Bas- 
tille to  the  Cour  de  la  lieine. 

M.  de  Necker  reigned  in  his  stead.  He  was  a  G-enevese 
banker,  and  a  financier  of  the  first  force;  but  even  he  failed 
to  see  a  way  out  of  the  royal  bankruptcy  ;  and  it  was  whis- 
pered that  he  was  going  to  ask  the  nation  what  it  thought 
of  matters — France  was  to  speak. 

This  was  the  great  news  at  my  uncle's  dinner-table  that 
day,  and  our  three  guests  were  very  merry  over  it,  and 
pledged  fidelity  to  each  other  however  these  events  might 
turn  out. 

And  they  kept  their  word. 


CHAPTER   V. 

I    BREAK    WITH    THE    ARISTOCRACY. 

Next  morning  I  set  out  for  St.  Menehould,  to  see  about 
M.  Drouet'"  s  job.  He  told  me  what  he  wanted,  and  that  he 
should  require  the  new  furniture  I  was  to  make  him  to  be 
of  good,  well-seasoned  oak.  In  order  that  I  might  set 
about  it  the  more  easily,  he  paid  me  one  hundred  francs  in 
advance  ;  and  with  this  prodigious  sum  in  my  pocket,  I 
went  off  to  select  the  necessary  timber,  when  whom  should 
I  meet  but  Bertrand.  The  old  soldier  informed  me  that 
M.  Drouet  had  spoken  to  him  about  giving  me  fencing  les- 
sons, and  I  arranged  with  him,  on  the  spot,  when  I  was  to 
take  them.     I  fact,  I  began  that  very  day. 

I  remember  well  how  my  hand  trembled  with  pleasure, 
when  I  grasped  the  foil  for  the  first  time.  At  the  end  of 
an  hour,  I  knew  the  five  parades,  and  could  disengage 
decently. 

*'  That  will  do  for  to-day,"  cried  my  master,  more  tired 
than  I  was  myself. 

1  recollected  something. 

"Monsieur  Bertrand,"  said  I;  "I  shall  perhaps  not  be 
able  to  pay  you  till  the  end  of  the  month." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  settled.  Monsieur  Drouet  has  paid  me  a 
month  in  advance.     He  said  that  he  owed  you  money." 


42  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

I  felt  a  glow  of  emotion  at  this  new  proof  of  my  good 
friend's  generosity. 

As  I  was  crossing  a  field  on  my  .way  home,  I  met  the 
surveyor,  M.  Mathieu.  My  good  genius  had  preceded  me 
there,  too  :  the  surveyor  was  quite  ready  to  impart  to  me 
the  mysteries  of  the  chain  and  level. 

Leaving  him,  I  went  home  in  great  glee,  took  my  gun, 
and  sallied  forth  to  slaughter  partridges  for  my  Latin  mas- 
ter. I  was  fortunate  enough  to  knock  over  a  brace  of  birds 
and  a  hare,  which  I  sent  the  same  night  to  the  Abbe 
JTortin. 

Next  day,  as  I  was  planing  away  with  great  zeal,  the 
Abbe  himself  stood  before  me. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  you  'have  sent  me  some  game,  and  you 
must  now  help  me  to  eat  it.  Dinner  at  two,  and  I  shall  be 
glad  to  see  your  uncle,  if  he  will  come  with  you." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  l'Abbe,  it  is  too  much  honor  !" 

"  At  two  o'clock,  mind.  Marguerite,  the  housekeeper, 
does  not  like  to  be  kept  waiting." 

So  saying,  the  worthy  Cure  left  me. 

My  uncle,  I  found,  would  not  be  at  home  till  the  evening, 
so,  at  the  hour  appointed,  I  found  myself  alone,  tapping  at 
the  Abbe's  door,  and  dressed  out  in  all  my  Sunday  splen- 
dor. 

The  Cure  opened  it  himself. 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  I  am  so  sorry  to  trouble  you  !  " 

"  Trouble  ?  Nonsense  !  Onby  Marguerite  cannot  be  at 
the  door  and  at  her  kitchen  stove  at  the  same  time.  Talk- 
ing of  which,  she  tells  me  we  will  not  have  dinner  till 
three.  Now,  what  do  you  say  to  a  first  Latin  lesson,  as  my 
friend  Drouet  tells  me  that  you  wish  to  learn  that  lan- 
guage." 

I  was  only  too  glad  to  acquiesce ;  and,  before  dinner  was 
served,  I  understood  that  there  were  five  declensions  in  the 
Roman  tongue. 

During  the  simple  repast  which  followed,  I  surveyed  the 
Abbe's  furniture  with  a  critical  eye,  and  a  mental  resolve 
to  do  it  all  up  for  him  again. 

Then,  after  having  arranged  about  my  future  hours  with 
my  kind  preceptor,  I  returned  home,  one  step  further  up 
the  ladder  of  progress.  That  very  evening,  we  were 
apprised  of  a  visit  of  the  Count  de  Dampierre,  the  Viscount 
de  Malmy,  and  some  other  young  nobles. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  43 

Hitherto,  I  had  heen  in  the  habit  of  accompanying  them, 
dressed  in  regular  keeper's  costume ;  but  now  I  stuck 
steadily  to  my  carpentry  work. 

"Holloa,  Rene  !  "  said  M.  de  Dampierre ;  "don't  you  go 
with  us  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  have  a  lesson 
in  mathematics  to-day." 

"  What  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  with  surprise.  "  Do  you  study 
mathematics  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  liistory  and  Latin,  also." 

"  And  is  all  this  necessary  in  our  days  for  a  game- 
keeper ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  be  one." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  be  a  carpenter,  like  '  Emile.'  " 

"  I  don't  know  him." 

"  No  ?  It  is  the  '  Emile  '  of  Monsieur  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau  that  I  mean ;  but  if  the  nation  wants  me,  I  shall 
be  a  soldier." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  nation  ?  " 

"  I  mean  our  country — France." 

"We  call  that  the  kingdom,  do  we  not?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte  ;  but  some  think  it  high  time 
that  we  should  call  it  a  nation." 

"  Then  the  mathematics  are  to  teach  you  military  engi- 
neering ?  " 

"Yes;  every  officer  should  know  fyow  to  draw  a  plan." 

"  Officer !  But  before  you  can  be  an  officer,  yon  must  be 
an  aristocrat." 

"  At  present,  yes  ;  but  by  the  time  I  am  ready,  there 
may  be  changes  in  the  system.''' 

"You  heard  that,  Maimy,"  said  M.  de  Dampierre,  turn- 
ing to  the  Yiscount. 

"  Yes  !  "  replied  the  other,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it  all  ?  "  asked  M.  de  Dam- 
pierre. 

"  I  think  that  the  class  to  which  he  belongs  are  losing 
their  heads  altogether." 

I  planed  away  vigorously,  and  affected  not  to  hear.  By- 
and-bye  they  strolled  oif  to  the  forest,  laughing,  whilst  I 
got  ready  to  go  to  M.  Mathieu,  for  my  first  lesson  in 
engineering. 


44  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE     NATION     AND      THE     BASTILLE. VERDICT    FOR     THE 

FORMER. 

At  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  day  the  Abbe  Fortin  had  his 
furniture  retouched,  and  when  three  months  had  expired  I 
had  finished  the  carpentry  work  for  M.  Drouet. 

The  work  was  este mated  at  five  hundred  francs,  the 
materials  alone  costing  a  hundred  and  twenty  ;  so  that  I 
received  three  hundred  and  eighty,  with  the  compliments 
of  my  two  masters  on  the  excellency  of  my  workmanship. 

Whilst  I  was  still  engaged  on  the  completion  of  the 
order,  M.  Drouet  advanced  me  five  hundred  francs,  to 
enable  me  to  buy  the  wood,  and  at  the  same  time,  to  take 
my  lessons  in  the  use  of  implements  of  warfare,  and  pur- 
chase useful  books. 

The  warrant  expected  from  M.  Necker,  for  the  convoca- 
tion of  the  Etats  Generaux,  had  appeared.  For  the  first 
time,  a  great  nation,  or  a  great  kingdom,  as  M.  Dampierre 
said,  admitted  all  its  members  to  political  rights. 

No  sooner  had  the  warrant  appeared  (which  can  be 
translated  in  these  words : — "  All  will  assemble  to  elect ; 
all  will  write  their  grievances  in  the  books  given  to  them 
for  that  purpose  ")  than  all  France  thrilled,  as  it  were,  with 
an  electric  shock,  and  the  people  leapt  from  darkness  into 
light. 

That  cry,  treasured  up  for  two  centuries,  becomes 
stronger  and  stronger  every  day.  They  complain  that  the 
year  1788  was  barren  ;  that  the  winter  was  bitterly  cold ; 
that  the  famine  in  the  following  spring  was  terrible. 

They  went  to  the  municipality  of  St.  Menehould,  to 
write  in  the  books  ;  and  my  capital  penmanship  procured 
me  the  office  of  secretary. 

Afterwards,  they  went  to  election.  MM.  Drouet,  Guil- 
laume,  and  Billaud  exercised  enormous  influence. 

M.  Dampierre  was  balloted  with  a  poor  parish  priest. 
The  priest  prevailed  over  him. 

The  event  deceived  all.  The  Etats,  which  ought  to  have 
opened  on  the  27th  of  April,  were  adjourned  to  the  4th  of 
May. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  45 

The  Court  was  frightened,  and  delayed  the  matter  as 
long  as  it  could. 

All  France  had  its  eyes  turned  to  Paris.  Every  hour 
brought  forth  unexpected  events. 

On  the  5th  of  May,  the  opening  of  the  Etats,  in  the 
procession  from  Versailles,  the  King  was  applauded,  and 
the  Queen  hissed. 

On  the  8th  of  Majr,  the  three  classes  were  changed  into 
two — the  one  formed  of  the  third  class,  the  other  of  the 
nobility  and  clergy. 

On  the  18th  of  June,  the  assembly  hall  was  closed  by 
order  of  the  King. 

On  the  22nd  of  June,  the  oath  of  Jeu-de-Pauvre  was 
taken. 

This  oath  was  the  declaration  of  war  from  the  third  Etat 
against  the  nobility  and  clergy.  It  was  the  first  menace 
direct  from  the  people  against  the  throne. 

All  in  a  moment,  these  comparatively  small  events  ceased, 
and  a  portentous  calm  intervened,  so  to  speak,  as  if  the 
minor  combatants  held  their  weapons  to  intently  watch  the 
issue  of  the  combat  between  their  superiors. 

On  the  12th  of  July,  M.  Drouet  started  for  Paris. 

it  was  the  day  of  the  dismissal  of  Necker — it  was  the 
day  when  Camille  Desmoulins,  jumping  on  a  table  in  a  cafe, 
drew  his  sword,  and  crying,  "To  arms!"  placed  the  leaf 
of  a  tree  in  his  hat. 

We  had  no  news  of  M.  Drouet  up  to  the  15th 

On  the  morning  of  the  15th,  MM.  Dampierre  and  De 
Valmy  went  out  hunting,  to  which  sport  were  invited  two 
or  three  of  their  friends  from  Clermont  and  Varennes ; 
among  others,  a  certain  Chevalier  de  Courtemont,  whom  we 
shall  come  across  later  on. 

It  was  evident  that  the  -hunt  was  but  a  secondary  affair, 
and  that  the  real  object  was  to  meet  and  hear  the  news 
from  Paris. 

M.  Dampierre  had  heard,  on  the  13th,  that  Paris  was  on 
fire,  and  the  Court  at  Versailles  guarded  by  German  troops, 
■ — Penzenval  commanding,  under  the  old  Marshal  de  Brog- 
lie. 

The  theatres  were  shut.  The  dismissal  of  ]STecker  had, 
to  a  certain  extent,  paralyzed  the  public  mind.  Statues  of 
him  and  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans  were  covered  with  crape, 
and  paraded  through  the  streets  of  Paris. 


46  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

The  procession,  armed  with  sticks,  swords,  and  pistols, 
after  having  passed  through  the  streets  Saint  Martin  and 
Saint  Honore,  arrived  at  the  Place  Vendome. 

There  one  division  stopped,  and  having  dispersed  the 
people,  destroyed  the  bust  of  the  Prince  and  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  and  put  to  death  a  French  guard  who  disdained  to 

fly- 
That  was  not  all. 

M.  de  Bezenval  had  put  a  detatchment  of  Swiss  and  four 
pieces  of  cannon  in  battery  on  the  Champs  Elysees,  the 
crowd  retired  to  the  Tuileries,  and  the  Prince  de  Lambese, 
a  German,  charged  upon  them  with  his  cavalry,  inoffensive 
though  they  were,  and  was  the  first  to  enter,  on  horseback, 
the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries.  A  barricade  stopped  him. 
Prom  the  back  of  that  barricade,  stones  and  bottles  were 
thrown  at  him.  He  perceived  that  a  group  of  men  were 
shutting  the  gate,  to  take  him  prisoner.  He  ordered  a 
retreat,  and,  in  flying,  crushed  one  man  under  his  steed, 
and  severely  wounded  another  with  a  blow  from  his  sabre. 

The  crowd  now  entered  the  armorers'  shops,  and  ran- 
sacked them. 

The  cannons  were  mounted  on  the  Bastille,  which  was 
reinforced  by  another  detachment  of  Swiss. 

They  knew  nothing  more  on  the  night  of  the  13th,  nor 
on  the  next  day. 

M.  Dampierre  ordered  that  if  news  came  in  the  day,  it 
was  to  be  delivered  to  my  uncle. 

At  four  o'clock  the  sport  finished,  and  they  returned  to 
the  house.     A  dinner,  prepared  as  usual,  awaited  them. 

The  companions  remained  at  table,  visibty  pre-occupied  ; 
the  conversation  was  nothing  but  conjectures.  They  spoke 
in  strong  terms  of  the  National  Assembly.  They  wished 
to  have  been  in  the  place  of  M.  Brez^,  of  M.  de  Bezenval, 
of  M.  de  Lambese  ;  they  were  sure  that  they  could  have 
done  better  than  the}'  did. 

The  Queen  was  too  good,  not  to  have  commanded  the 
Swiss  to  exterminate  the  wretches. 

At  six  o'clock,  M.  D4ampierre's  servant  brought  a  de- 
spatch.    It  was  dated  the  morning  of  the  14th. 

On  the  night  of  the  loth  the  people  had  forced  the  doors 
of  the  Invalides,  and  had  taken  thirty  thousand  muskets. 
They  had  also  forced  the  doors  of  the  Arsenal  with  sledge- 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  47 

hammers,  and  had  taken  seven  or  eight  tons  of  powder. 
That  powder  had  been  distributed  under  the  lamp-lights. 
Each  man  bearing  a  musket  received  fifty  cartridges. 

The  Court  had  ordered  all  the  foreign  regiments,  useful 
to  royalty,  to  be  at  hand,  if  wanted. 

M.  de  Launay,  the  Governor  of  the  Bastille,  who  knew 
his  unpopularity,  and  upon  whom  they  could  count,  because 
of  that  unpopularity,  had  pledged  himself  to  blow  the  Bas- 
tille into  the  air,  along  with  half  Paris,  before  he  would 
surrender. 

This  news  the  companions  thought  good,  as  it  promised 
a  desperate  resistance. 

On  the  other  hand,  who  were  the  people  who  menaced 
royalty?  Men  ignorant  of  the  use  of  fire-arms,  undisci- 
plined, and  without  leaders,  who  would  retreat  at  the  first 
cannon-shot,  and  fly  at  the  first  charge. 

How  could  that  rabble  hold  out  against  practised  soldiers, 
who  feared  not  death,  but  disgrace  ? 

On  mastering  the  despatch,  M.  Dampierre  told  each 
guest  to  fill  his  glass ;  then,  lifting  his  own,  "  To  the 
victory  of  the  King,  and  the  extermination  of  the  rebels  ! " 
he  cried.     "  Drink  with  me,  gentlemen." 

"  To  the  victory  of  the  King,  and  the  extermination  of 
the  rebels  ! "  cried  all,  with  one  voice. 

But  before  they  had  time  to  put  the  glasses  to  their  lips, 
a  furious  gallop,  coming  from  the  direction  of  Paris,  was 
heard  ;  and,  shouting  with  joy,  a  horseman,  with  a  tricolor 
in  his  hat,  shot  past  like  a  whirlwind,  crying  to  M.  Dam- 
pierre and  his  friends  these  words — not  less  terrible  than 
those  that  Belshazzar  read,  in  letters  of  fire,  on  the  wall, — 
"  The  Bastille  is  taken  !     Long  live  the  people  !  " 

The  horseman  was  Jean  Baptiste  Drouet,  who  was  rid- 
ing at  full  speed  to  announce  to  his  friends  at  Varennes  the 
yews  of  the  victory  that  the  people  had  obtained  over  their 

g: 

This  news  which  he  proclaimed  in  every  city  and  in  every 
village  that  he  passed,  brightened  his  route  with  a  flash 
vivid  as  lightning. 


48  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

CONCERNING    THE    BASTILLE. 

All  France  gave  one  cry  of  joy  when  the  news  arrived 
that  the  Bastille  was  taken. 

All  the  world  knew  the  Bastille — that  prison  which  has 
given  its  name  to  others. 

From  one  end  of  France  to  the  other,  all  shook  hands, 
congratulating  each  other  on  the  event. 

And,  strange  to  say,  the  Bastille  was  taken  by  those  who 
had  never  entered  it — in  fact,  it  was  a  place  of  imprison- 
ment for  nobles  only. 

One  would  have  thought,  from  the  fact  of  their  attacking 
it,  that  it  was  a  place  which  they  themselves  had  to  dread. 

.Ah  !  it  was  a  horrible  den.  You  were  not  dead  there  ; 
but  what  was  worse,  }rou  were  forgotten. 

Your  father,  wife,  or  brother  dared  not  speak  of  you,  for 
fear  they  should  be  sent  there  likewise. 

Once  there,  you  no  longer  had  a  name,  but  a  number. 
You  died,  and  they  buried  you  under  a  false  name. 

No  ;  the  King  did  not  deprive  you  of  your  head  ;  he 
was  too  good  for  that ;  he  only  forgot  you. 

Instead  of  dying  in  a  moment,  you  suffered  unutterable 
tortures  for  perhaps  thirty  years. 

In  the  reign  of  Louis  XVI  all  the  rigors  of  prisons  were 
softened,  with  the  exception  of  the  Bastille,  the  discipline 
of  which  was  harsher  than  ever.  In  former  reigns  they 
had  barred  the  windows  ;  but  now  they  also  stopped  the 
promenades  in  the  gardens. 

It  is  true  that  Louis  XVI  did  not  actually  do  this  him- 
self but  he  suffered  it  to  be  done,  which  is  all  the  same. 

Louis  XVI  did  not  himself  shut  up  the  garden.  No ;  it 
was  De  Launay,  who  was  as  unpopular  as  he  well  could  be. 

At  the  Bastille  all  bought  the  places  that  they  occupied, 
from  the  Governor  down  to  the  gaolers.  Every  situation 
was  worth  having,  except  that  of  the  prisoners. 

The  Governor  had  sixty  thousand  livres  salary.  He 
made  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  by  his  plunders. 

We  have  already  spoken   of  the   garden  of  the   Bastille 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  49 

open  to  the  prisoners.      It  was  hut  a  little   plot  of  ground, 
planted,  as  it  were,  upon  a  bastion. 

A  gardener  offered  a  hundred  francs  a  year  for  it ;  and 
this  scoundrel,  who  was  wringing  from  the  pitiful  allowances 
of  the  prisoners  the  sum  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
francs  per  annum,  actually,  for  the  sake  of  this  paltry  sum, 
deprived  the  poor  wretches  under  his  rule  of  the  breath  of 
air  that  made  life  supportable,  of  the  sole  gleam  of  life  that 
intervened  'twixt  them  and  the  tomb. 

He  well  knew  that  he  would  never  survive  the  capture  of 
the  Bastille — this  man  of  iron,  who  had  a  Bastille  in  place 
of  a  heart. 

The  Governor's  hundred  and  thirty-five  barrels  of  powder 
were  placed  in  a  vault,  situated  in  the  centre  of  the  fortress. 
The  Bastille  blown  into  the  air  would  astound  Paris  in  its 
ascent,  and  utterly  destroy  it  in  its  stupendous  fall.  This 
he  knew.  When  the  prison  was  entered  by  the  people, 
he  clapped  a  torch  to  the  touch-string.  An  Invalide  seized 
his  arms  ;  two  sous-officers  crossed  bayonets  across  his 
breast.  He.  snatched  a  knife  from  his  belt ;  they  took  it  out 
of  his  hands. 

Then  he  demanded  to  be  allowed  to  march  out  with  the 
honors  of  war. 

This  demand  met  with  a  positive  refusal. 

At  last,  he  would  be  satisfied  were  he  allowed  to  depart 
with  life  alone. 

Two  of  the  conquerors  of  the  Bastille — Hullin  and  Elie 
— promised  this  in  the  name  of  all. 

He  begged  them  to  conduct  him  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
where  he  had  some  shadow  of  authority. 

In  the  meantime,  whilst  the  people  were  dashing  them- 
selves against  the  granite  and  the  oak,  and  demolishing  the 
two  stone  slaves  that  supported  the  clock,  and  breaking 
open  the  dungeons,  with  the  intention  of  liberating  the 
prisoners  confined  therein,  Hullin  and  Elie  took  away  l)e 
Launay,  hiding  him  as  much  as  possible  by  placing  them- 
selves in  front  of  him. 

But  when  he  arrived  at  the  gates,  the    Governor   was  re- 
cognised.     He  had  no  hat  ;  Hullin,  fearless  of  eonsequen- 
gave  him  his  own. 

Turning  into   the  Rue   St.  Antoine,  one  who  had  taken 
part  in  the  combat,  recognised  the  prisoner. 
3 


50  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

Farther  on,  came  some  who  had  not  yet  been  engaged  in 
the  siege,  and  who,  as  a  matter  of  course,  were  more  blood- 
thirsty now  that  the  danger  was  over.  They  wished  to 
massacre  the  prisoners.  De  Launay  remained  alive  through 
the  protection  of  Hullin  and  Elie. 

Elie,  less  powerful  than  Hullin,  was  carried  away  by  the 
crowd,  amongst  whom  he  was  lost  sight  of. 

At  the  Arcade  St.  Jean,  Hullin  himself  lost  sight  of  De 
Launay,  but  by  a  superhuman  effort  he  separated  the 
crowd,  and  regained  him.  He  dragged  him  to  some  adja- 
cent steps,  but  in  the  effort  fell.  Twice  did  he  again  raise 
himself,  only  to  fall  again.  At  the  third  time,  De  Launay 
had  disappeared.  He  looked  for  him  on  all  sides,  and  at  last 
recognised  his  head  fixed  on  the  extremity  of  a  pike,  and 
borne  above  the  crowd. 

That  head  Hullin  would  have  saved,  had  it  been  possible, 
at  the  risk  of  his  own. 

During  this  time,  the  mob  had  released  the  prisoners  in 
the  Bastille. 

There  were  nine. 

Two  or  three,  on  seeing  the  door  open,  cried  out  that  the 
people  had  come  to  slay  them,  and  prepared  to  defend  them- 
selves with  chairs,  but  the  intruders  cried  out  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  Free  !  Free  !  " 

One  could  not  understand  it,  and  fell  suffocating,  pressing 
his  heart  with  his  two  hands. 

Another  stood  speechless,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  space ;  a 
venerable  man  was  he,  with  a  white  beard  descending  to  his 
breast.     They  took  him  for  a  spectre. 

The  conquerors  told  him  that  he  was  free. 

He  understood  them  not. 

"  How  is  Louis  the  Fifteenth  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  He  has  been  dead  fifteen  years." 

"  How  long  had  he  been  in  the  Bastille  ?  "  they  asked 
him. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  ho  replied. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  Elder-born  of  Space." 

He  was  mad. 

Under  the  staircase,  in  a  sort  of  tomb,"  they  found  two 
skeletons.  Who  were  they  ?  No  one  knew.  The  work- 
men took  them  away,  and  buried  them  in  the  Cemetery  of 
St.  Paul. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  51 

All  the  world  wished  to  see  the  Bastille.  They  showed 
Latude's  ladder,  that  immense  work  of  patience  and  of 
genius. 

For  a  month  the  old  place  was  not  emptied. 

They  heard  sighs.  A  report  ran  about  that  there  were 
hidden  dungeons  known  only  to  the  Government,  in  which 
the  unhappy  prisoners  were  suffered  to  die  of  hunger. 

The  architect  of  the  city,  Citizen  Palloy,  was  ordered  to 
pull  down  the  old  fortress.  Of  the  best  stones,  he  made 
eighty-six  models  of  the  Bastille,  which  he  sent  to  eighty- 
six  different  departments. 

With  the  others,  he  built  the  Pont  de  la  Revolution,  on 
which  the  head  of  Louis  XVI  was  exposed  alter  execution. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    DUKE    D'ENGHIEN'S    LAST    DAY'S    SPORT. 

For  a  long  time,  reports  of  hidden  dungeons  and  forgot- 
ten prisoners  agitated  Paris.  Paris  had  had  a  mountain  on 
its  breast,  and  could  not  accustom  itself  to  the  deliverance 
from  it. 

To  pity  succeeded  fear.  Had  they  really  escaped  from 
that  calamity  with  which  De  Launay  had  threatened  them  ? 
They  reported  that  there  were  underground  passages  from 
the  Bastille  to  Vincennes ;  and  that  in  those  passages  the 
powder  was  concealed  just  under  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine, 
which  would  one  day  blow  up  from  one  end  to  the  other. 

These  fears  had  a  good  effect.  They,  for  a  time,  dissi- 
pated the  feeling  of  famine  which  was  gradually  creeping 
over  Paris. 

Foulon  said,  "  The  French  have  no  bread ;  why  should 
they  not  eat  hay  ?     My  horses  eat  it." 

True  or  not,  he  expiated  this  sneer  with  his  life,  and  they 
carried  his  head  about  with  a  mouthful  of  hay  stuffed  be- 
tween his  teeth. 

But,  alas !  it  seemed  that  the  French  people  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  eat  what  Foulon  recommended. 

From  Paris,  the  fear  of  famine  was  dispersed  among  the 
provinces. 


52  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

"  Foulon,"  said  all,  "  had  predicted  it." 

They  must  mow  all  France. 

All  said  that  his  ghost  appeared  to  execute  the  menace. 

Then  report  went  ahout  that  bands  of  robbers  had  been 
seen  mowing  the  green  wheat. 

The  municipality  of  Soissons  wrote  to  the  Assembly  a 
letter  full  of  fears.  "  The  robbers  had  cut,"  they  said,  "  all 
the  wheat  for  miles  around,  and  were  now  marching  on  the 
city." 

Soissons  demanded  help. 

The  Assembly  sent  a  thousand  men,  who  searched  on  all 
sides,  twelve  miles  a-da}^.  They  could  not  find  the 
robbers. 

No  matter,  ten,  twenty,  a  hundred  people  had  seen  them. 

In  the  midst  of  this  disputed  news,  other  transpired 
which  was  but  too  true. 

A  certain  lord  having  heard  that  De  Launay  had  wished 
to  blow  up  the  Bastille,  resolved,  if  it  were  in  his  power,  to 
complete  that  which  the  Governor  had  been  unable  to  do. 

He  announced  that,  in  honor  of  the  taking  of  the  Bas- 
tille, he  would  give  a  grand  entertainment,  to  which  all 
were  invited — workmen,  artisans,  tradesmen,  countrymen, 
soldiers,  women,  old  men,  and  children. 

In  this  time  of  famine,  when  all  lived  on  an  ounce  or 
two  of  bread  per  diem,  a  good  dinner  was  a  public  service. 
Everybody — about  5,000  persons,  that  is  to  say — rushed  to 
the  fete.  In  the  midst  of  it,  an  explosion  was  heard,  and 
the  surrounding  plain  was  covered  with  dissevered  limbs. 

The  gentleman,  whose  name  was  Men  nay  de  Quincy, 
escaped  to  Switzerland,  and  avoided  punishment. 

Later  on,  he  returned  ;  and,  as  he  was  a  member  of  Par- 
liament, he  was  arrainged  before  it,  and  acquitted. 

But  the  breach  between  the  nobles  and  the  j^eople  was 
now  opened.  The  poor  Count  de  Haus,  who  was  incapable 
of  committing  such  a  crime,  was  accused  of  abetting  M.  de 
Quincy. 

Some  days  afterwards,  being  at  Neuville  le  Pont,  he  was 
insulted  by  the  people,  who  proceeded  to  extremities ;  and 
he  had  but  just  time  to  spring  on  his  horse,  and  gallop  off 
to  a  place  of  safety. 

Fear  had  now  seized  upon  us,  as  well  as  every  one  else. 

On  the  18th  of  July,  four  days  after  the  taking  of  the 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  53 

Bastille,  the  Prince  Conde,  the  Duke  cTEnghien,  M.  Vaud- 
revil,  and  M.  de  Broglie  were  announced. 

Their  arrival  astonished  my  uncle,  as  it  was  not  the  hunt- 
ing season  ;  the  wood  being  very  thick,  the  shooting  was 
difficult. 

The  Prince  de  Conde  replied  that  he  only  wished  to  hunt 
a  stag,  the  King  having  commanded  him,  in  the  possibility 
of  a  war,  to  examine  into  the  condition  of  the  defences  of 
Verdun. 

The  courier  was  ordered  to  procure  horses  from  Clermont, 
and  to  command  the  two  carriages  punctually  at  live 
o'clock. 

So,  taking  this  view  of  the  matter,  there  was  nothing  ex- 
traordinary in  it  at  all. 

The  Princes,  mindful  of  the  sport  they  had  had,  were  de- 
termined to  enjoy  another  day  of  it,  although  it  was  not 
the  proper  season  ;  but  they  could  surely  do  as  they  liked. 

The  Duke  d'Enghien  commanded  me  to  accompany 
them. 

I  said  good-bye  to  my  books  for  the  day,  took  the  gun 
which  the  Duke  had  given  me,  and  followed  them. 

The  Prince  was  then  eighteen  years  of  age — not  much 
older  than  I  was.  It  was  probably  on  account  of  the  sim- 
ilarity of  our  ages,  that  I  was  favored  by  so  much  of  his  no- 
tice. 

I  remarked  that,  though  courteous  as  usual,  he  was  pro- 
foundly sorrowful. 

He  asked  me  what  progress  I  was  making  in  my  educa- 
tion. 

I  told  him.  When  I  mentioned  M.  Drouet,  he  asked  if 
he  were  not  the  postmaster  at  St.  Menehould. 

On  my  response  in  the  affirmative,  "  A  hot  Republican, 
if  I  mistake  not  ?  "  he  said. 

I  replied  that,  through  him,  this  part  of  the  country  had 
been  apprized  of  the  capture  of  the  Bastille. 

He  asked  me  some  questions  about  the  general  disposi- 
tion of  the  country — as  much  of  the  nobles  as  of  the  lower 
classes. 

I  told  him  that  the  love  of  the  people  for  their  King  was 
great,  and  that  the}r  equally  hated  the  nobles,  which  was 
true. 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  sighed. 


54  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

I  looked  at  him  with  astonishment. 

"  Pardon  me,  Duke,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  heard  the  Prince  de 
Conde  say  that  he  was  going  to  inspect  the  fortifications  of 
Verdun,  in  case  of  war." 

He  looked  at  me  to  see  what  I  was  driving  at. 

"  Excuse  my  question,  Duke,"  said  I,  "  but  do  you  think 
it  probable  that  we  shall  have  war?" 

"  Very  probable,"  said  he,  looking  at  me  in  his  turn. 
"  But  why  that  question  ?  " 

"  Because,  in  that  event,  your  Grace,  I  shall  not  have 
lost  my  time." 

"  What  would  you  do  if  there  were  war  ?  " 

"  If  France  be  menaced,  every  one  capable  of  bearing  a 
musket  should  fly  to  its  defence." 

He  looked  at  my  gun.  It  was  the  one  which  he  had 
given  me. 

"  So  you  can  not  only  carry  a  gun,  but  you  know  how  to 
use  it." 

"  In  fact,  your  Grace,"  said  I,  laughing,  "thanks  to  your 
noble  gift,  I  am  such  a  capital  shot,  that  if  J  had  a  Prus- 
sian or  Austrian  at  the  end  of  it,  I  fancy  they  would  pass 
an  uncomfortable  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  am  certain  of  it.  A  Prussian  or  an  Austrian  would 
be  bigger  than  that  pigeon  you  see  there." 

And  I  pointed  to  one  perched  about  three  hundred  paces 
off,  on  the  dry  branch  of  a  tree. 

"  You  are  mad,"  said  the  Prince.  "  That  bird  is  three 
times  out  of  range." 

"  Certainly,  your  Grace,  for  shot ;  but  not  for  ball  ?  " 

"  Your  gun  is  loaded,  then,  with  ball  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  Grace;  1  seldom  use  anything  else." 

"  "What  are  you  doing,  Henri?"  the  Prince  de  Conde 
said,  as  he  appeared  in  view. 

"Nothing,  father,"  replied  the  Duke;  "I  am  only  say- 
ing a  few  words  to  this  boy  here." 

He  then  bade  me  farewell,  saying  that  he  hoped  I  would 
always  "  think  of  him  kindly."  And  waving  his  hand,  he 
resumed  his  seat  by  his  father's  side,  and  disappeared. 

I  stood  almost  heart-broken  on  the  spot  where  the  Prince 
addressed  his  last  words  to  me. 

One  would  have  thought  that  I  had  a  presentiment  of  the 
awful  circumstances  under  which  I  should  meet  him  again. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  55 

All  the  towns  bad  organized  national  guards,  after  the 
exampleof  Paris.  Chalons  had  set  the  example  ;  St.  Mene- 
hould  had  followed  it.  M.  Drouet  was  captain.  He  came 
to  ask  Bertrand  to  be  his  lieutenant,  and  to  see  how  many 
men  lie  could  recruit  al   Lslettes. 

It  was  the  report  oi  bandits  having  been  sect  about 
which  induced  them  in  i  rganize  the  National  Guard. 

In  eight  days,  all  France  was  armed.  Each  day  the 
National  Assembly  gave  audiences  to  ten  couriers.  It  had 
at  its  disposal  a  million  of  men. 

Drouet  and  Bertrand  took  a  stroll  in  the  village  of  ls- 
lettes. 

They  enrolled  twenty  men. 

The  keepers  of  the  Forest  of  Argonne  enlisted  themselves 
and  formed  that  part  of  the  brigade  of  which  Father  Des- 
charmes  was  chief. 

I  wished  to  be  one  of  M.  Bertrand's  detachment,  conse- 
quently in  M.  Drouet's  company. 

He  accompanied  me  as  far  as  Father  Descharmes'  cottage, 
and  asked  me  about  the  visit  of  the  evening  before. 

He  also  a>ked  if  the  Princes  had  not  returned. 

"  No  ;  because  they  have  gone  to  Verdun,"  said  I. 

"Why  did  they  not  send  to  hire  their  horses  from  my 
place  ? •" 

"  Because  they  preferred  to  have  them  from  Clermont." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  M.  Jean  Baptiste.  "  Do  you  know  who 
they  were  who  accompanied  the  Duke  d'Enghien  and  the 
Prince  de  Con  do  ?  " 

"  I  heard  them  mention  M.  Vandreul  and  M.  Broglie." 

"  Exactly,"  said  he.  "  Rene,  they  come  not  to  inspect 
Verdun.  They  have  abandoned  the  King,  and  quitted 
France.     They  have  gone  to  intrigue  with  strangers." 

Then  I  remembered  the  sadness  of  the  Duke  d'Enghien  ; 
and  I  called  to  mind  his  peculiar  look,  when  I  said  that  an 
Austrian  or  Prussian  were  easier  to  shoot  than  a  pigeon.  I 
also  remembered  his  last  words  before  leaving — "  I  hope 
that  you  will  always  think  of  me  with  kindness." 

Poor  Prince  !  He  had  left  France,  and  that  was  the 
cause  of  his  sorrow. 

"  Would  that  all  would  follow  his  example,"  murmured 
M.  Drouet,  "from  the  first  to  the  last!  But,"  continued 
he,  grinding  his  teeth,  "I  fancy  that  if  the  King  or  Queen 
were  to  try  that  move,  they  would  not  escape  so  easily." 


56  LOVE     AND    LTBEBTY. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

I    GO    TO    MAKE    CAPTIVES     AND    AM    TAKEN    CAPTIVE 
MYSELF. 

Our  National  Guard  was  at  firsl  a  curious  sight. 

The  first  rank  were  armed  with  guns  ;  the  second  with 
scythes  ;  the  third  with  clubs,  and  so  on. 

Later  on,  the  armorers  made  some  pikes  for  those  who 
had  no  guns. 

But  however  the  guard  was  armed,  there  is  no  doubt  but 
that  it  was  rilled  with  enthusiasm. 

Not  a  man,  had  he  received  the  order,  would  have  hesi- 
tated to  march  on  Paris. 

What  was  most  remarkable,  with  regard  to  this  corps, 
was  the  manner  in  which  the  battalions  seemed,  as  it  were, 
to  spring  from  the  earth.  Libert}'  was  as  yet  quite  young ; 
and  yet  she  had  only  to  strike  with  her  foot  on  the  ground, 
to  raise  this  deadly  harvest  of  men. 

It  was  in  the  sainted  year  of  1789  that  all  France  became 
soldiers.  After  the  14th  Jul}7,  every  Frenchman  was  born 
with  teeth  ready  to  bite  a  cartridge. 

Villages  and  towns  joined  in  one  compact ;  and  that  was, 
to  mutually  help  each  other  when  necessary. 

One  day,  we  saw  arrive,  by  way  of  Clermont,  the  people 
of  Verdun ;  and,  by  way  of  Paris,  the  people  of  St.  Mene 
hould. 

They  had  heard  that  a  band  of  robbers  had  issued  from 
the  Forest  of  Argonne,  set  fire  to  Islettes,  and  plundered 
the  village. 

A  hundred  men  from  Clermont,  under  the  command  of 
M.  Matthieu,  and  two  hundred  from  St.  Menehould,  under 
M.  Drouet,  had  therefore  set  out,  to  render  what  assistance 
they  might  in  the  extermination  of  the  brigands,  of  whom 
they  had  as  yet  not  seen  a  trace. 

They  made  merry,  therefore,  instead  of  fighting,  and  in 
the  place  of  the  rattle  of  musketry,  was  heard  the  more 
peaceful  song. 

Eight  days  afterwards,  a  man  passed  on  horseback,  going 
from  Clermont  to  St.  Menehould,  and  crying  out,  "  The 
brigands  are  marching  on  Varennes  !     Help  !  help  !  '' 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  57 

The  man  disappeared  from  view — none  knew  Lim.  Xo 
matter,  all  leaped  up]  the  drum  beat  the  rappel;  fifty  men 
put  themselves  under  the  dim  biori  of  Bertrand  :  ami.  with- 
out  inquiring  the  number  of  the  enemy,  marched  to  A'aren- 
nes.     Ne<  d  ty,  I  was  one  of  them. 

From  the  height  ot  the  hill  of  Veuvilly,  we  saw  a  great 
cloud  of  dust,  about  half  a  lea  id  of  us. 

They  were  the  men  of  Clermont,  who.  having  started 
about  half  an  hour  before  us,  were  about  half  a  league 
ahea  1. 

At  that  sight,  all  elevated  their  hats  on  the  ends  of  their 
muskets  or  pikes,  and  shouted  "  Vive  la  nation  '." 

That  cry  had  almost  completely  taken  the  place  of  "  Vive 
le  Roi :  "'  * 

We  arrived  at  Varennes,  which  we  expected  to  find  in 
flames,  with  the  streets  running  blood.  From  the  height 
of  the  hill,  which  descends  to  the  Rue  des  Religieuses,  we 
had  a  good  view  of  the  town. 

All  was  quiet. 

The  people  of  Clermont,  when  they  first  arrived,  were 
taken  tor  the  brigands,  whom  they  were  expecting  every 
moment.  • 

When  thej-  recognised  them,  there  was  a  general  em- 
bracing, and  crying   "  Vive  la  nation  !  " 

Then  we  arrived,  in  our  turn  ;  and  two  hours  afterwards, 
the  men  of  Montfalcon,  X)e  Bousance,  and  De  Youziez. 
The  latter  had  marched  eight  leagues  in  live  hours. 

They  bivouacked  in  the  Place  de  Latry,  and  the  Place 
de  Grand  Monarque. 

They  then  laid  out  tables  for  a  public  repast,  where,  after 
an  ancient  custom,  each  cue  chose  his  companions,  and 
found  his  own  dinner. 

I  had  one  visit  to  pay  in  Varennes — a  place  to  which  I 
seldom  came,  and  where  I  only  knew  two  persons,  M.  Guil- 
laume  and  M.  Billaud. 

I  remembered  me  of  one  of  the  two  master  workmen 
who  had  priced  my  carpentry  work  for  M.  Drouet  ;  and 
who  said  that  if  1  had  no  work  to  do,  and  would  accept  it 
of  him.  he  could  always  find  me  plenty. 

His  name  was  Father  Gerbaut. 

I  asked  his  address.  He  lived  in  the  Rue  de  la  Basse 
Cour.     The  houses  were  not  numbered  at  that  period.     On 


58  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

the  left,  descending  to  the  Place  Latry,  next  door  to  a  large 
grocer's,  his  house  was  situated. 

I  called.  He  was  out ;  but  expected  home  every 
moment. 

I  was  received  by  his  daughter,  a  charming  girl,  a  little 
younger  than  myself — that  is  to  say,  about  sixteen  or 
seventeen  years  of  age. 

She  asked  me  to  wait  till  her  father  returned,  or  to  give 
her  my  name  if  I  feared  becoming  weary  of  staying  with 
her. 

Of  course,  I  rejected  with  scorn  the  idea  that  any  one 
could  become  wearied  in  the  presence  of  one  so  gracious 
and  charming. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  had  ever  addressed 
a  compliment  to  a  female. 

Indeed,  it  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  been  in  conversa- 
tion with  a  girl  at  all. 

Up  to  this  time,  1  had  scarcely  given  women  a  moment's 
consideration. 

Directly  I  told  my  name  to  the  young  girl,  her  face, 
wThich  had  before  been  amiable,  brightened  into  a  look  of 
friendship. 

"  I  know  you,"  said  she  ;  "  you  worked  for  M.  Drouet ; 
my  father  has  mentioned  you  to  his  workmen,  more  than 
once,  as  an  example  to  be  followed.  Do  stay  ;  he  will  be 
glad  to  see  you." 

On  looking  around  me,  I  perceived  a  harpsichord. 

"  You  are  a  musician,  I  perceive,  mademoiselle." 

"  Oh.  Monsieur  Rene,  you  must  not  call  me  that.  The 
organist  of  St.  Ugengoulf  has  given  me  a  few  lessons ;  and, 
as  he  says  I  have  some  voice,  I  practise  singing  to  amuse 
myself." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  I,  "  can  you  believe  that  I  have 
never  heard  the  sound  of  a  harpischord,  or  an}7  song,  but 
that  of  the  washerwomen,  as  they  beat  their  linen  ?  Will 
you  sing  something  for  me  as  well  as  yourself,  and  I  shall 
be  completely  happy?" 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  she  replied. 

And  rising  up,  she  crossed  over  to  the  harpischord;  and, 
after  a  simple  prelude,  she  sang — 

"  How  sad  to  me  tlie  day 
When  tliuu  art  far  away ! " 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  53 

Every  one  knows  that  pretty  romance,  the  "  Devin  de 
Village." 

But  it  had  never  seemed  so  charming  to  me  as  when 
issuing  from  the  lips  of  my  pretty  songstress. 

Mademoiselle  Gerbaut  had  sang  very  simply,  hut  with 
that  coquetry  so  natural  to  women.  Her  face  was  variable ; 
and  as  she  sang  without  accompaniment,  leaning  slightly 
back  in  her  chair,  her  half-closed  eyes  gave  a  somewhat 
sentimental  expression  to  the  rest  of  her  face.  Her  mouth 
was  beautifully  formed,  she  spoke  almost  without  any  per- 
ceptible movement  of  the  lips,  and  you  saw,  at  the  first 
glance,  that  what  she  said  was  neither  artificial  nor  con- 
strained. 

I  was  delighted  with  her.  I  said  nothing,  but  my  looks 
spoke  more  than  words  could  have  done. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  I,  not  being  able,  in  my  enthusi- 
asm, to  think  of  any  thing  else,  "  have  you  read 
<  Emile  ?  '  " 

"Xo,  monsieur,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  my  mother  has  read 
it,  and  that  is  why  I  am  named  Sophie." 

"  You  are  named  Sophie ! "  cried  I,  seizing  her  hand, 
and  pressing  it  to  in}T  heart ;  "  now  I  am  completely 
happy  !  " 

She  looked  at  me  with  an  astonished  smile. 

"  And  why  are  you  so  happy  because  my  name  is 
Sophie  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Because  now  I  can  look  upon  you  as  a  sister  more  than 
a  stranger.     Oh,  Sophie — dear  Sophie  !  " 

Sophie  regarded  me  with  a  more  astonished  expression 
of  face  than  ever ;  and  I  know  not  what  she  might  have 
said,  had  not  M.  Gerbaut  made  his  appearance  at  that 
moment. 

"Ah  !  is  that  you,  Rene?"  said  he;  "you  are,  indeed, 
welcome.  I  asked  the  news  from  your  friends  on  the 
Place  there,  and  when  they  told  me  that  you  were  at  Var- 
ennes,  I  knew  you  would  not  go  without  (•ailing  to  see  me." 

'•  ^i  es,  M.  Gerbaut,"  I  answered,  going  up  to  him,  and 
shaking  his  hand;  "  but  I  did  not  expect  to  find  what  I 
have  found." 

"  And,  pray,  what  have  you  found  ?  " 

".Mademoiselle  Sophie,  who  has  been  kind  enough  to 
sing  me  an  air  from  the  'Devin  de  Village  de  M.  Rous- 
seau.' " 


60  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  She  did  not  require  much  persuasion,  did 
she  ?  " 

"  Only  great  men,  or  great  fools,  require  to  be  ashed 
twice,"  said  Sophie,  laughing;  "and  as  I  am  not  a  genius 
or  a " 

Here  she  paused,  while  a  sweet  smile  played  over  her 
lips. 

"  Fool,"  continued  M.  Gerbaut,  "you  sang  to  him." 

"  Did  I  do  wrong,  father  7  " 

"  Certainly  not.  As  long  as  you  sing  to  your  equals, 
and  without  affectation,  well  and  good.  You  know  what  I 
mean  ?  " 

Sophie  bent  her  e}'es,  blushing. 

"  We  must  change  our  quarters,  I  think,"  said  Father 
Gerbaut,  half  smiling,  half  serious. 

"  Wherefore?  "  said  I,  breaking  into  the  conversation. 

"  Because  we  are  just  opposite  to  the  '  Hotel  de  Eras 
d'Or,'  where  many  handsome  young  gentlemen  put  up,  and 
who  are  fond  of  music  as  a  vehicle  for  making  love." 

"  Oh,  father  !  "   murmured  Sophie  ;  "  sa}7  not  so  ! " 

"What  would  you  have?"  cried  M.  Gerbaut.  "They 
are  no  friends  of  mine  who  would  bring  trouble  into  peace- 
ful families.  When  I  understood  that  the  princes  and 
great  lords  had  left  the  country,  I  had  hoped  that  these 
gentlemen  would  have  gone  in  their  train.  But  no  ;  they 
stay  to  make  love  to  our  wives  and  daughters,  and  to  con- 
spire against  the  nation.  But  this  is  not  the  time  to  speak 
of  that.  This  is  a  fete  day  for  Varennes.  I  must  pay  a 
visit  to  the  cellar  and  larder.  After  dinner  we  will  have  a 
dance.  Will  you  be  Sophie's  partner?"  said  M.  Ger- 
baut to  me. 

'"I  should  be  only  too  happy,"  cried  I;  "but  perhaps 
Mdle.  Sophie  does  not  think  a  }'oung  apprentice  worthy  of 
offering  her  his  arm  ?" 

"  Oh,  M.  Bene  !  "  said  the  young  girl  ;  "  you  listen  to 
my  father,  and  then  do  me  a  grevious  wrong,  without  any 
foundation  for  it." 

Sophie  and  myself  bounded  down  the  staircase,  and  in  a 
moment  found  ourselves  under  a  bright  sun  in  the  street, 
as  I  could  not  help  thinking,  like  two  butterflies  emerged 
from  a  chrysalis  state. 

Whilst  I  had  been  waiting  at  M.  Gerbaut's,  and  whilst 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  61 

I  had  been  listening  to  Sophie's  song,  the  streets  of  Van-li- 
nes had  undergone  a  greal  change. 

The  city  was  holding  high  holiday,  with  which,  however, 
was  mingled  a  certain  degree  of  solemnity. 

All  the  houses  wen-  hung  with  tapestry  ;  and  outside  the 
doors  tables  were  laid,  covered  with  flowers,  at  which  the 
inhabitants  of  the  houses  were  seated,  eating,  waited  upon 
by  their  servants,  if  they  had  any  ;  if  not,  by  themselves. 

As  if  they  wished  that  the  dead  should  participate  in 
the  joy  of  the  living,  garlands  of  green  boughs,  inter- 
mingled with  flowers,  were  suspended  from  the  gates  of  the 
cemetery,  which  stretched  from  the  church  to  the  side  of 
the  Rue  de  l'Horloge.  In  the  middle  of  the  Place  was 
erected  a  scaffolding,  filled  with  amateur  musicians,  who 
wished  to  promote  a  dance  after  dinner.  On  the  front  of 
this  temple  of  Terpischore  was  written  "  Vive  le  Roi  ! 
Vive  la  nation  !  "  Underneath  this,  in  large  letters,  was 
inscribed  the  word  "  Fraternite  ! ''" 

It  was,  in  fact  a  brotherly  rejoicing.  Those  who  there 
met  for  the  first  time  were  members  of  one  great  family, 
which  had  existed  for  centuries,  only  it  ignored  the  tie 
which  bound  one  to  the  other. 

But  common  danger  had  caused  to  meet  the  two  ends  of 
the  thread,  and  in  their  union  they  found  force. 

After  passing  the  houses  leading  to  the  1'lace  Latry,  we 
arrived  at  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  Rue  de  l'Horloge, 
and  entered  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd. 

There  seemed  to  be  collected  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
High  Town. 

In  each  street  the  tables  were  arranged  on  the  right  and 
left  side  of  the  houses  ;  a  space  in  the  middle  being  left  for 
the  promenaders.  The  Rue  des  Religieuses,  which  runs 
down  from  the  foot  of  the  hill,  made  a  most  perfect  and 
picturesque  view. 

We  got  mixed  up  with  a  lot  of  other  persons,  when  all  of 
a  sudden  a  crowd  of  horsemen — young  gentlemen,  appar- 
ently— appeared  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  and,  putting  their 
horses  at  full  gallop,  dashed  into  the  Rue  des  Religieuses. 
There  was  a  general  cry  of  "Each  one  for  himself!  "  and 
we  turned  to  fly;  but  as  we  had  been  in  front  before,  we 
now  naturally  found  ourselves  in  the  rear. 

Thinking  but  of  Sophie,  I  wished  to  put  her  under  one 


62  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

of  the  tables,  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  danger ;  hut  curious 
to  relate,  she  did  not  seem  to  know  the  peril  she  was  in, 
and  would  not  stir  till  it  was  too  late  ;  and  I  had  just  time 
to  clasp  her  in  my  arms,  and  throw  myself  in  front  of  her. 

I  had  scarcely  accomplished  this,  than,  on  turning  round, 
I  discovered  myself  face  to  face  with  a  horseman,  whose 
steed  was  perfectly  unmanageable,  and  turned  round  and 
round,  threatening  us  with  his  hoofs  as  he  did  so. 

I  had  but  one  hope,  and  that  was  to  preserve  Sophie.  I 
caught  hold  of  the  horse's  bridle,  the  cavalier  raised  his 
whip,  the  horse  gave  a  plunge,  and,  whether  through  acci- 
dent or  intention,  the  blow,  instead  of  falling  on  the  horse, 
struck  me  on  the  shoulder. 

The  shame  of  being  struck,  more  than  the  pain  of  the 
blow,  caused  the  blood  to  rise  to  my  head.  I  seized  the 
horseman  by  his  waist,  lifted  him  from  the  saddle,  the 
horse  bolting  away  at  the  moment,  upsetting  a  woman  and 
two  or  three  children  in  its  wild  career,  and  fell  with  him 
on  the  pavement;  but,  being  the  more  vigorous,  I  was  the 
uppermost,  and  soon  had  him  at  my  mercy,  with  my  knee 
on  his  breast. 

It  was  only  when  his  hat  fell  from  his  head,  that  I  re- 
cognised who  my  adversary  was. 

"  M.  de  Malmy  !  "  cried  I. 

And  taking  my  knee  from  his  breast,  and  releasing  his 
arms,  I  stood  a  little  on  one  side. 

"  Ah,  wretch  !  "  cried  he  regaining  his  whip.  "  Do  you 
know  what  is  the  penalty  for  laying  hands  on  a  gentle- 
man ?  " 

"  M.  le  Viscount !  "  cried  Sophie,  pale  with  terror,  placing 
herself,  at  the  same  time,  between  us. 

He  smiled  a  grim  smile,  grinding  his  teeth  as  he  did  so. 

"  I  am  determined,  mademoiselle.  Had  he  been  a 
gentleman,  I  would  chastise  him  with  a  sword ;  but  as  he 
is  not,  I  shall  punish  him  with  this  whip." 

He  raised  it. 

I  looked  for  something  with  which  to  defend  myself.  At 
that  moment,  a  man  sprang  over  one  of  the  tables,  seized 
the  Marquis  with  one  hand,  and  possessed  himself  of  the 
whip  with  the  other. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "  whips  were  made  for  horses  and 
dogs.     Rene  Besson  is  a  man." 


LOVE      AKD     LIBERTY.  63 

"  A  man  ?  "  repeated  the  Viscount,  furiously. 

"  Yea,  a  man  ;  and  one  whom  you  may  not  insult." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  Viscount. 

"You  know  me  very  well.  M.  de  Malmy  ;  but  as  you  ask, 
I  will  tell  you.  I  am  Jean  Baptiste  Drouet,  postmaster  at 
St.  Menehould.  I  am  not  of  noble  birth,  I  know  full  well  ; 
but  for  six  yours  have  1  served  my  country  as  a  soldier,  and 
that  is  better  than  a  gentleman  who  spends  his  life  in  eat- 
ing, drinking,  and  bunting.  This  1  say  for  the  benefit  of 
you  and  your  friends,  and  if  you  want  me,  you  know  where 
to  find  me." 

Saying  these  words,  Drouet  pushed  De  Malmy  aside, 
and  turned  to  confront  two  or  three  other  young  gentlemen, 
who.  having  dismounted,  had  come  to  join  in  the  quarrel. 

;-  When  we  change  horses  at  your  post-house,  M.  Drou- 
et," said  one  of  these  young  men,  "  we  do  not  generally 
approach,  but  send  our  domestics^  to  bear  our  orders  to 
you." 

"  I  would  much  rather  deal  with  your  servants  than  with 
you,  M.  de  Courtement.  The}-,  at  least,  have  not  sold  their 
wives  or  daughters  in  the  Pare  au  Gerfs." 

The  young  noble  took  this  as  a  sarcasm  on  his  birth, 
with  regard  to  which  infamous  reports  had  been  bruited 
about. 

He  had  a  hunting-knife  in  his  belt,  and  suddenly  drew 
it,  maddened  with  anger. 

But  before  the  knife  could  do  any  mischief.  Drouet  drew 
a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and  presented  it  full  in  the  face  of 
the  Chevalier. 

'•  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "  I  could  shoot  you  like  I  would  a 
wild  beast;  and  two  hundred  people  would  bear  witness 
that  you  offered  the  first  insult ;  but  the  time  has  not 
\ut  come  when  all  shall  have  their  dues.  So  go  your  way 
in  peace,  and  let  the  matter  stand  as  it  is." 

"Oh,  without  doubt,  that  proceeding  would  suit  you 
wonderfully  well,"  said  M.  de  Malmy;  ••  but,  for  the  sake 
of  an  example,  I  must  proceed  otherwise." 

Raising  his  whip,  he  advanced  on  M.  Drouet,  who,  mak- 
ing a  spring  to  one  side,  jumped  on  a  table,  and  cried  out, 
in  a  powerful  tone  of  voice,  -Help!  To  my  assistance, 
men  of  St.  Menehould  !  " 

A  hundred  voices  responded  to  the  cry  ;  a  crowd  rushed 


64  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

to  where  we  were  ;  and  in  a  moment,  the  five  or  six  gentle- 
men were  completely  in  our  power. 

Each  had  seized  the  arms  that  came  nearest  to  hand — 
one  a  pike,  another  a  musket  ;  thus  showing  by  their  alac- 
rity, their  wish  to  be  of  service  to  their  commander.  They 
were  informed  of  the  origin  of  the  dispute,  and  wished 
nothing  better  than  to  fan  up  the  embers  of  the  old  quarrel 
between  the  no'bles  and  the  people. 

The  young  gentlemen  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt 
resistance. 

"Murder  us!"  cried  the  Viscount;  "even  as  your 
friends  at  Paris  have  murdered  De  Launay,  Foulon,  and 
Berthier." 

"Our  friends,  as  you  call  them,  in  Paris,  disgraced  them- 
selves by  laying  hands  on  men  who  were  scarcely  good 
enough  to  die  by  the  hands  of  the  common  executioner. 
But  what  would  j-ou  have  ?  The  people  have  cried  for  jus- 
tice, and  it  has  been  denied  them.  Is  it,  then,  wonderful 
that  they  should  take  the  law  in  their  own  hands  when  the 
opportunity  presented  ?  But  as  for  you,  gentlemen,  as  you 
are  not  gaolers,  like  De  Launay,  or  extortioners,  like  Fou- 
lon  and  Berthier,  you  have  not  merited  death,  but  simply 
a  little  lesson,  which  I  shall  have  great  pleasure  in  giving 
you." 

"  Give  a  lesson  to  us  ?  "  cried  the  young  men,  mad  with 
rage. 

"Yes;  but  it  shall  not  be  harsh  or  spiteful.  This  is  a 
day  of  brotherly  fraternity.  Are  you  our  brothers?  Will 
you  share  in  our  fete  ?  Porget  the  hard  words  that  have 
passed  between  us  ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  put  them  down  to 
the  account  of  that  goddess  who  is  aptly  called  Discord. 
The  tables  await  you.  Sit  down  among  us,  and  we  will 
give  you  the  place  of  honor;  and  the  first  one  who  forgets 
to  pay  the  respect  which  is  due  to  you,  shall  be  chased  from 
the  midst  of  us,  as  one  unworthy  of  participating  in  our 
reunion.  Do  jtou  agree  with  me  ?  "  cried  Drouet  to  all 
who  were  around. 

"Yes  !  yes !  *'  replied  all.  with  one  voice,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  young  nobles,  who  still  continued  silent. 

'•  What  if  we  refuse  ?"  at  last  said  one  of  them. 

"  If  you  refuse/*  said  Drouet,  "  go  to  the  '  Bras  d*Or,' 
or  the  •  Grand  Monarque  ; '  eat  and  drink  as  you  like — you 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  65 

are  free  ;  but  disturb  not  our  enjoyment.  Am  I  not  right, 
my  friends  ?  "  continued  Drouet,  for  the  second  time  ad- 
dressing the  crowd. 

The  applause  was  as  loud  as  before. 

"  And  if  we  do  not  promise  to  leave  you  in  quiet  enjoy- 
ment of  j'our  fete — what  then  ? "  asked  another  of  the 
young  nobles. 

"  As,  by  that  act,  you  will  prove  that  you  are  not  good 
citizens,  and  that  you  are  desirous  of  breaking  the  public 
peace,  we  shall  ask  you  to  leave  the  town  quiel^' ;  and,  if 
you  refuse,  we  will  expel  you  by  force." 

"  Bravo  !  bravo  !  "  cried  all. 

M.  de  Mai  my  interrogated  his  companions  with  his 
e}res ;  and  as  he  saw  the  same  expression  in  all  theirs, 
"  Messieurs,"  said  he,  "  I  regret  that,  in  the  name  of  my 
friend  and  myself,  I  must  refuse  the  great  honor  that  you 
offer  us.  I  regret,  also,  that  we  cannot  pledge  our  word 
not  to  interrupt  the  fete,  as  we  are  not  sufficient  philoso- 
phers to  avoid  breaking  our  promise  ;  so — as  we  have  no 
further  business  to  detain  us  in  town — we  ask  your  per- 
mission to  make  our  most  respectful  adieu,  and  to  go  and 
seek  our  pleasure  elsewhere." 

"As  you  wish,  M.  le  Viscount,"  said  M.  Drouet.  "You 
are  free  to  go."  Then,  assuming  the  tone  of  command 
which  sat  so  well  on  him,  he  said,  "  Allow  these  gentlemen 
to  pass,  and  preserve  complete  silence  ;  the  one  who  passes 
a  remark,  will  have  to  answer  for  it  to  me." 

Not  a  sound  could  be  heard. 

In  the  midst  of  this  oppressive  silence,  the  young  nobles 
remounted  their  horses,  and  returned  by  the  way  that  they 
had  arrived. 

No  word  was  spoken,  no  movement  made ;  but  the 
people  followed  the  little  party  with  their  eyes  until  they 
finally  disappeared  from  view  on  turning  into  the  road 
leading  to  Clermont. 

Then  a  voice  was  heard,  calm,  but  commanding  in  its 
tones.     It  was  Drouet's. 

"Lieutenant  Bertrand,"  said  he,  "place  sentinels  at  the 
gates  and  see  that  the  young  nobles  do  not  re-enter  the 
town,  during  the  continuance  of  the  fete." 

Then,  turning    to    the  crowd,    "  Am    I    not   right,    my 
friends  ?  "  said  he. 
4 


66  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

"  Vive  M.  Drouet !  Vive  la  nation  !  "  cried  the  people, 
with  one  voice. 

A  few  cries  of  "Down  with  the  nobles!"  were  heard, 
but  they  had  no  response.  In  fact,  Drouet  turned  to 
whence  those  cries  proceeded,  and  made  a  gesture  of 
disapprobation. 

The  fete  then  continued  as  happily  as  if  nothing  had 
happened 


-«— ^»—  > 


CHAPTER    X. 

TOUCHING   MADEMOISELLE    SOPHIE. 

I  have  said  how  much  my  encounter  with  De  Malmy 
seemed  to  affect  my  companion,  but  that  might  have  been 
accounted  for  in  three  wa}*s.  First,  her  fear  for  herself; 
second,  her  fear  for  me ;  and  lastly,  perhaps,  her  fear  for 
my  adversary. 

I  had  not  forgotten  what  Father  Gerbaut  had  said  with 
regard  to  his  daughter's  looking  higher  than  her  position 
warranted,  and  to  the  attention  which  she  drew  from  the 
young  gentlemen  who  put  up  at  the  "  Bras  d'Or,"  some  of 
whom  were,  no  doubt,  those  with  whom  we  had  been  in 
contest. 

I  had  naturally  followed,  with  my  eyes,  the  little  caval- 
cade, until  it  finally  disappeared. 

On  withdrawing  my  looks  from  it,  I  perceived  that 
Sophie  was  half  fainting.  I  offered  her  my  arm,  which 
she  took,  trembling  at  the  same  time  all  over. 

"Oh,  M.  Rene,"  said  she,  "I  was  so  frightened  !  How 
glad  I  am  that  it  ended  as  it  did ! " 

For  whom  was  she  frightened?  and  for  whose  sake  was 
she  so  glad  that  all  was  over  ? 

Was  it  for  our  sakes,  or  for  that  of  the  young  lords  ? 

I  did  not  like  to  ask  her. 

M.  Drouet  walked  along  the  Place  with  us.  We  passed 
under  the  arch,  and  entered  the  Rue  de  la  Basse.  Cour 
Billaud  lived  some  distance  away,  and  Guillaume  almost  in 
the  country  j  so  those  three  young  men  went  to  the  "  Hotel 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  67 

du  Bras  d'Or,"  and  although  the  brothers  Leblanc  wished 
to  give  them  a  dinner  for  nothing,  they  insisted  on  paying 
for  everything  that  they  had. 

The  table  at  which  they  dined  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  just  opposite  to  ours. 

The  clock  of  St.  Gengoulf  gave  the  signal  for  dinner. 

The  two  first  toasts  proposed  were  "The  King!"  and 
"  The  nation !  "  They  then  drank  another  "  To  the  health 
of  those  who,  believing  them  to  be  in  danger,  had  flown  to 
their  succor." 

Sophie  eat  but  little,  in  spite  of  my  remonstrances.  Now 
and  then,  her  father  broke  out  into  violent  abuse  against 
the  young  nobles,  and  I  saw  the  tears  trembling  on  her  eye- 
lashes every  time  that  he  did  so. 

We  crossed  the  bridge  thrown  over  the  Biver  Aire.  Two 
streams  of  promenaders  were  continually  passing — the  one 
set  mounting  up,  the  other  coming  down.  The  Place  du 
Grand  Monarque  was  splendidly  illuminated.  The  tables 
were  not  in  any  one's  way,  being,  for  the  most  part,  piled 
in  front  of  the  door  of  the  church. 

The  Place  du  Grand  Monarque  being  smoother  and 
better  paved  than  the  Place  Latry  and,  besides,  not  having 
the  dispiriting  influence  of  a  cemetery,  was  chosen  for  the 
ball  room. 

The  signal  for  the  dance  was  given  by  a  joyous  peal  from 
the  church  bells,  to  which  violins  and  clarionets  replied,  and 
a  quadrille  was  speedily  formed. 

My  partner  took  mj  arm  for  the  second  dance,  but  sud- 
denly complaining  of  illness,  she  implored  me  to  take  her 
home. 

I  was  not  an  experienced  dancer,  but  under  Sophie's  tui- 
tion I  got  on  so  well,  that  I  tried  all  I  could  to  dissuade  her 
from  retiring  ;  but  she  said,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  Do  not  ask 
me  to  remain,  Bene,"  and  so  I  was  obliged  to  comply  with 
her  request. 

I  gave  her  my  arm,  and  we  retraced  our  steps  to  the 
house. 

M.  Gerbaut  had  heard  all  about  the  fracas  in  the  Bue  des 
Beligieuses,  and  was  very  well  pleased  that  we  had  given 
the  young  gentlemen  a  lesson. 

Sophie,  who  had  her  arm  in  mine,  heard  all  that  he  said 
to  me,  with  downcast  eyes,  and  gave  no  sign  of  approbation 
or  otherwise,  but  I  felt  her  shudder  under  her  father's  words. 


68  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

As  I  was  leaving,  "  Mademoiselle,"  said  I,  "  I.go  back 
to-morrow,  with  my  friends,  probably  before  you  awake  ;  so 
permit  me  to  say  good-bye  this  evening,  and  to  tell  you  be- 
fore M.  Gerbaut,  what  pleasure  I  feel  in  having  made  your 
acquaintance." 

"  And  I,  M.  ReneY'  said  she,  "  like  you  as  a  friend,  and 
am  well  disposed  to  love  you  as  a  brother." 

"  Very  well,  my  children,"  said  Father  Gerbaut,  "  em- 
brace each  other  and  say  good-bye." 

Sophie  turned  to  me  both  cheeks,  which  I  kissed  with  a 
feeling  of  ineffable  pleasure. 

She  then  retired  to  her  own  room  ;  I  followed  her  with 
my  eyes  to  the  door,  when  she  turned,  and  gave  me  a  parting 
glance,  and  a  parting  smile. 

"  She  is  a  good  girl,  after  all,"  said  her  father. 

"  A  good  girl,  M.  Gerbaut  ?     Say,  rather,  an  angel !  " 

"  Angels  are  not  so  common  as  all  that,  my  boy.  But," 
continued  he,  leading  me  along  the  corridor,  and  opening  a 
door,  "  here  is  your  room,  not  only  for  to-night,  but  for 
ever,  if  you  will  enter  into  my  service.  You  shall  have 
board  and  lodging,  and  twenty-five  crowns  a  month..  Do 
you  hear  me?" 

I  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  thanked  him  for  his  kind- 
ness. He  then  wished  me  to  come  down  stairs  again,  to 
drink  a  glass  to  the  health  of  the  nation.  But  I  pleaded 
fatigue,  and  want  of  sleep,  and  entered  my  chamber. 

The  real  reason  why  I  did  not  comply  with  his  offer,  was 
that  I  wished  to  be  alone. 

I  shut  the  door,  for  I  was  afraid  that  any  one  might  come 
and  look  for  me.  But  there  was  no  fear  of  that.  Every 
one  was  so  busy  enjoying  himself,  that  they  had  no  time  to 
think  of  aught  else. 

I  threw  myself  on  the  bed,  and  thought  of  Sophie. 

M.  Drouet  had  given  me  a  sincere  liking  for  intellectual 
existence,  but  Sophie  awakened  in  me  another  kind  of  exis- 
tence, that  of  love  ;  and  I  felt,  for  the  first  time,  that  inde- 
scribable, but  pleasurable  sensation,  which  predicts  the 
dawning  of  that  passion. 

A  new  future  opened  before  me.  This  was  the  scene. 
A  happy,  though,  perhaps,  a  humble  home,  with  a  careful 
and  a  beloved  wife.  I  could  see  myself,  at  set  of  sun, 
walking  by  the  river's  side,  her  heart  beating  against  mine. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  69 

I  could  fancy  delaying  under  the  tall  teees,  to  hear  the 
blackbird's  song.  In  a  word,  this  dream  of  the  future  was 
that  twofold  life  which,  till  then,  had  never  engaged  my 
boyish  thoughts.  Now,  I  seemed  to  have  taken  one  step 
into  this  fairyland;  and,  although  I  trembled  still,  I  would 
fain  go  on. 

What,  then,  prevented  me,  I  asked  myself,  from  making 
this  dream  a  reality  ?  Why  did  I  not  at  once  close  with 
M.  Gerbaut's  offer?  It  was  because  my  heart  misgave  me. 
I  thought  of  Sophie's  evident  leaning  towards  men  of  a 
higher  class  ;  I  reflected  that,  to  her,  I  must  be  a  mere  boy. 
And  I  groaned  in  spirit  that  I  was  not  half-a-dozen  years 
older. 

At  daybreak,  the  reveille  wras  beaten.  My  comrade  had 
passed  the  night  on  the  Place  and  in  the  streets,  dancing 
and  drinking.  I  jumped  from  my  couch,  and,  having  hast- 
ily dressed  myself,  crept  on  tip-toe  to  the  door  of  Sophie's 
chamber,  wishing  to  say  adieu,  even  if  only  through  the 
key-hole. 

I  had  trodden  as  lightly  as  possible,  scarcely  hearing  my 
own  footsteps  ;  and  how  great  was  my  astonishment  on 
seeing  the  door  open  a  little  way,  and  a  hand  put  out. 

It  was  easy  to  see,  through  the  crevice  from  which  the 
hand  was  protruded,  that  Sophie  had  not  retired  to  rest  at 
all ;  or,  if  she  had,  that  she  had  not  undressed  herself. 

I  seized  the  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  my  lips. 

She  withdrew  it,  leaving,  at  the  same  time,  a  little  billet 
in  mine,  and  quickly  closed  the  door. 

I  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes.  I  approached  a  win- 
dow, and,  by  the  light  of  early  dawn,  read  these  words^ — 

"  I  have  no  friends,  Rene.     Be  one  to  me.     I  am  very 

unhappy  !  " 

I  pressed,  with  one  hand,  the  billet  to  my  heart,  and, 
with  the  other  extended  towards  her  chamber,  I  swore  to 
accept  and  prove  myself  worthy  of  the  friendship  so  mys- 
teriously offered. 

Then,  perceiving  that  all  was  quiet  in  her  room,  I  went 
down  stairs,  took  my  gun,  and,  throwing  one  parting  glance 
at  her  window,  passed  into  the  street. 

The  curtain  drew  back,  giving  me  a  glimpse  of  her  face. 


70  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

She  nodded,  throwing  me  a  sad  smile,  and  the  curtain  was 
replaced  before  the  window. 

Small  as  the  time  was  that  I  had  for  observation,  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  her  eyes  were  reddened  with  weep- 
ing. 

There  was  nothing  wonderful  in  that.  Had  she  not  told 
me,  in  her  letter,  that  she  was  very  unhappy  ? 

There  was  a  mystery,  which,  no  doubt,  thought  I,  time 
will  clear  up. 

I  walked  rapidly  down  the  street,  in  the  direction  of  the 
Place,  knowing  that,  if  1  did  not  make  a  vigorous  effort,  I 
should  never  be  able  to  tear  myself  away  from  the  vicinity 
of  the  house. 

The  men  of  Clermont,  D'Islettes,  and  St.  Menehould— • 
in  fact,  all  who  followed  the  same  route — were  collected  in 
one  group.  They  drank  one  last  toast,  shook  hands  .for  the 
last  time,  and  separated. 

Father  Gerbaut  conducted  us  as  far  as  the  top  of  the 
Hill  des  Religieuses,  and  there  renewed  the  offers  that  he 
had  previously  made  to  me. 

I  reached  Father  Descharmes'  cottage,  and,  for  the  first 
time,  found  it  lonely,  and  my  room  wretched. 

On  the  morrow,  I  recommenced  my  usual  routine  of  life ; 
and  though  I  had  the  same  wish  to  make  progress  in  my 
studies,  still  there  was  a  dreary  blank  in  my  heart,  which 
they  could  not  fill. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WHAT    "  BROTHERHOOD  "    MEANT. 

I  have  told  you  all  that  took  place  up  to  this  time. 

My  life  continued  the  same  as  ever,  with  the  exception 
of  a  dreary  feeling  about  the  heart. 

The  events  that  took  place  in  Paris  had  no  direct  effect 
upon  me.  I  heard  them  as  one  might  hear  the  echo  of  a 
distant  thunder-clap. 

In  this  way  we  heard  of  the  abolition  of  titles,  on  the 
1st  of  August ;  of  the  suppression  of  tithes ;  of  the  recog- 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  71 

nition  of  religious  liberty ;  of  the  orgie  of  the  gardes  du 
corps  ;  of  the  insult  offered  to  the  national  cockade  ;  of  the 
days  of  the  5th  and  6th  of  October ;  of  the  return  of  the 
King  and  Queen  to  Paris;  of  the  plots  and  intrigues  of 
the  Court ;  of  the  prosecution  of  Bezenval  and  Favras ; 
and  of  the  publication  of  the  Red  Book  by  the  assembly. 

The  Red  Book  revealed  all. 

The  King,  who  had,  on  the  12th  of  February,  sworn 
friendship  to  the  Constitution,  not  only  was  in  direct  cor- 
respondence with  the  exiles,  but  went  to  Treves,  a  military 
post,  where  his  stables  were  situated,  and  which  was  in 
charge  of  Prince  Lambese,  the  very  man  who  had  charged 
on  the  people  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  on  the  12th 
of  Jul}',  and  wounded  an  old  man  with  his  sabre,  and  trod- 
den the  helpless  under  foot. 

The  same  kind  of  thing  went  on  at  Versailles.  The 
King  had  a  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs;  uniforms  were 
made  for  the  gardes  du  corps,  and  sent  to  Treves  ;  horses 
were  bought  in  England  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
King's  household;  and  the  only  grumble  that  Louis  XVI 
made,  when  he  paid  the  bills,  was,  that,  at  least,  they  might 
have  bought  the  horses  in  France. 

The  Comte  D'Artois,  the  Prince  Conde,  and  the  other 
exiles,  received  enormous  pensions. 

They  had  not  then  been  able  to  find  what  became  of  the 
sixty  millions. 

But  now  the  Red  Book  pointed  out  where  they  had 
gone. 

If,  up  to  this  moment,  there  had  been  any  hesitation  on 
the  minds  of  the  people,  that  hesitation  now  disappeared. 

They  knew  where  was  their  enemy. 

The  enemy  was  the  exiles,  and  their  ally,  the  King,  who 
pensioned  them. 

This  was  the  reason  why  the  Assembly  struck  a  decisive 
blow,  and  put  up  for  sale,  at  one  time,  ecclesiastical  bene- 
fices to  the  tune  of  four  hundred  millions.  Paris  alone 
bought  two  hundred  millions'  worth. 

All  the  municipalities  followed  that  example.  They 
bought  a  great  number,  and  then  sold  them,  one  by  one. 
In  a  word,  they  wished  to  expropriate  the  clergy,  and 
they  did  hesitate  to  do  it. 

There  is  something  miraculous  in  this,  and  which  does 
not  appear  in  the  history  of  any  other  country. 


72  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

And  that  is,  the  spontaneous  organization  of  France  by 
itself.  The  Assembly  was  only  a  secretary.  France  did 
the  deed  ;  the  Assembly  registered  it. 

Before  that,  the  division  of  old  France  into  provinces  was 
abolished  ;  the  boundaries  had  been  already  changed  ;  there 
were  no  longer  Provencals,  Bretons,  Alsaciens,  Picards,  or 
French. 

The  Champ  de  Mars  was  Mount  Tabor,  transfigured  by 
the  sun  of  June. 

Valence  gave,  on  the  29th  of  November,  1789,  the  exam- 
ple of  the  first  federation ;  and  each  strove  to  follow  the 
example  given  by  the  zealous  Dauphin,  our  vanguard 
against  the  great  enemy,  the  Savoyard  King. 

From  anterior  ages,  the  eldest  man  has  always  presided, 
whether  noble  or  not.  His  age  makes  his  right — his  white 
locks  his  crown. 

Rouen  searched  for  an  old  Chevalier  of  Malta,  eighty- 
five  years  of  age,  to  preside  at  its  federation. 

In  St.  Aurleol,  there  were  two  old  men,  respectively 
ninety-three  and  ninety-four  years  of  age,  the  one  a  noble, 
and  the  other  a  plebeian — the  one  a  colonel,  the  other  a 
laborer.  These  two  embraced  at  the  altar,  and  the  specta- 
tors embraced  each  other,  ciying,  "  There  is  no  longer  an 
aristocracy,  no  longer  a  working-class — there  are  only 
Frenchmen  ! " 

At  Lous  le  Lauheur,  a  citizen,  whose  name  is  forgotten, 
gave  this  toast  : — 

"  To  all  men,  equally  to  our  enemies  :  let  us  swear  to 
love  and  protect  them." 

Open  the  book  of  royalty,  and  see  if  you  can  find  a  sen- 
timent equal  to  that  inscribed  on  the  first  page  of  the  book 
of  the  people. 

From  all  places,  provincial  and  isolated,  one  cry  arose  : — 
"  To  Paris  !     To  Paris  !     To  Paris  !  n 

As  this  cry  burst  from  the  throat  of  France,  Royal- 
ists and  Jacobins  trembled.  The  Jacobins  said,  "  The 
King,  with  his  smile,  and  the  Queen,  with  her  white  lips, 
will  fascinate  the  credulous  people  from  the  provinces,  and 
will  cause  them  to  turn  against  us,  and  the  revolution  will 
be  at  an  end." 

The  Royalists  said.  "  To  bring  these  provincials,  already 
ripe  for   tumult,  to  Paris,  the  centre  of  agitation,  is  but 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  73 

bringing  oil  to  feed  the  lamp  of  revolution.  Who  can  say 
what  will  be  the  effect  of  this  immense  concourse,  and  what 
fearful  events  may  conic  to  pass  through  the  incursions  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  souls,  from  all  quarters  of 
France,  into  Paris  '.' 

But  the  impulse  was  given,  and  the  movement  could  not 
be  stayed. 

France  wished,  with  that  powerful  will  which  nothing 
could  arrest,  to  know  itself 

The  corporation  of  Paris  demanded  of  the  Assembly  the 
general  federation. 

The  Assembly,  pretending  to  accord  to  their  wish,  named 
the  14th  of  July,  the  anniversary  of  the  taking  of  the 
Bastille. 

The  news  was  propagated  among  all  the  provinces  of  the 
kingdom  ;  but  as  they  feared  so  great  an  assemblage  in 
Paris,  and  wished  to  put  all  possible  obstacles  in  their  way, 
all  expenses  were  put  down  to  the  charge  of  the  localities. 

All  our  department  clubbed  together.  I  was  compara- 
tively rich,  having  in  my  possession  three  or  four  hundred 
crowns,  gained  by  my  own  labor,  and  saved  by  my  own 
economy. 

Father  Descharmes  had  offered  to  give  me  what  sum  I 
wanted ;  but  I  refused  to  accept  anything. 

For  some  time,  the  poor  old  man  had  been  declining  hi 
health.  He  had  served  princes  all  his  life,  and  now  missed 
them.  One  thing  greatly  perplexed  him,  and  that  was, 
whether  France  had  the  right  to  act  as  it  was  acting? 

They  had  offered  him  a  deputyship  to  the  federation  ;  but 
he  shook  his  head,  saying,  "  I  am  too  old  ;  Rene  will  go  in 
my  place." 

Afterwards,  he  had  a  long  conversation  with  M.  Drouet, 
in  the  course  of  which  he  gave  him  some  papers,  which  he 
sorted  with  care,  put  in  his  portfolio,  and  took  to  St.  Mene- 
hould. 

On  the  eve  of  departure,  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door 
of  my  uncle's  cottage  ;  and,  to  my  astonishment,  I  saw 
Sophie  and  her  father  alight  from  it. 

I  rushed  out  with  a  cry  of  joy,  but  suddenly  stopped  my- 
self. 

What  would  Sophie — what  would  her  father  think? 
Father  Gerbaut  smiled.     Sophie  made  a  step  in  advance, 
and  gave  me  her  hand. 


74  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

"  "Well,  how  is  old  Nimrod  getting  on  ? "  said  Father 
Gerbaut  to  my  uncle,  who  had  just  come  out  of  his  room. 

"  As  well  as  can  be  expected  at  my  age,  M.  Gerbaut.  It 
is  necessary  for  the  violet  to  blossom  in  spring,  and  the 
beech-tree  to  put  forth  its  buds  in  May.  He  is  just  sixteen 
and  a-half  jrears  old.  When  1  was  at  that  age,  I  already 
had  a  sweetheart." 

I  felt  myself  blushing  to  the  veiy  tips  of  my  ears. 

"  Ah  !  I  never  had  but  one  love.  But  where  are  you  go- 
ing to  in  this  fashion  ?  "  asked  my  uncle  ;  "  for  I  cannot 
think  that  you  came  all  this  way  on  purpose  to  pay  me  a 
visit," 

"No,  my  old  friend  ;  though  I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  I 
am  on  my  way  to  St.  Men'ehould,  to  put  a  few  little  affairs 
of  mine  in  order.  I  have  been  appointed  a  member  of  the 
Federation,  and  I  do  not  know  how  long  we  may  be  com- 
pelled to  stay  in  Paris." 

"  W'hat  a  pity  that  you  have  not  got  a  third  seat  in  your 
carriage.  I  also  have  business  at  St.  Menehould,  and  I  would 
have  asked  you  to  give  me  a  lift." 

"  Good  !  "  said  M.  Gerbaut ;  "  all  can  be  arranged.  So- 
phie does  not  much  care  to  go  to  St.  Menehould.  Do  you, 
Sophie  ?  " 

"  I  only  care  to  go,  so  as  to  be  with  you,  father." 

"Well,  then,  stay  here  with  Rene.  You  can  stroll,  in 
the  wTood,  like  two  lovers,  and  we,  like  two  old  fogies  as  we 
are,  will  go  and  look  after  our  affairs.  If  Rene  were  a  young 
nobleman,  I  should  not  place  so  much  trust  in  him  ;  but  he 
is  a  good  lad,  a  clever  workman,  and  an  honest  man,  and  as 
I  would  trust  him  with  a  purse,  so  will  I  trust  him  with  my 
child." 

I  looked  joyfully  at  Sophie,  but  she  showed  neither  pleas- 
ure nor  sorrow;  she  seemed  to  be  exactly  of  her  father's 
opinion,  that  we  might  be  trusted  together. 

M.  Gerbaut  and  Father  Descharmes  got  into  the  vehicle, 
and  drove  off  in  the  direction  of  the  village  of  Islettes. 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  75 

CHAPTER  XII. 

"WHAT    PASSED    IN    THE    FOREST. 

For  some  time  I  followed  the  carriage  with  my  eyes,  for 
I  feared  to  look  at  Sophie,  as  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  the  expression  of  her  face  would  decide  my  future 
happiness  or  misery. 

After  a  time  I  made  up  my  mind  ;  I  turned  round. 

Sophie  had  a  smile  on  her  lips,  but  it  seemed  as  if  the 
rest  of  her  face  was  overshadowed  with  sadness. 

I  offered  her  my  arm,  which  she  took. 

"  What  would  you  like  to  do  ?  "  I  asked  her.  "  Would 
you  rather  stay  here,  or  take  a  stroll  in  the  wood  ?  n 

"  Take  me  under  the  shadow  of  yon  great  trees,  M. 
Rene.  In  my  little  chamber  at  Varennes  I  stifle  for  want 
of  air." 

"It  is  singular,  Mdlle.  Sophie,  that  I  always  believed 
that  you  preferred  the  town  to  the  country." 

"  I  prefer  nothing.     I  live,  that  is  all." 

She  heaved  a  sigh. 

The  conversation  fell. 

I  threw  a  side  glance  at  Sophie.  She  appeared  fatigued 
and  in  pain. 

"  You  look  pale,"  said  I ;  "  and  although  you  do  not  pre- 
fer the  country  to  the  town,  I  fancy  it  does  you  more  good." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  by  way  of  reply. 

"Perhaps,"  said  she. 

I  turned  towards  my  uncle's  cottage,  all  covered  with  ivy 
and  creepers,  surrounded  by  flowers  and  shadowed  by  the 
branches  of  chestnuts  and  beech-trees. 

It  was  beautiful,  seen  half  in  light  and  half  in  shadow. 
A  cat  was  sleeping  comfortably  on  the  window-sill ;  two 
dogs  were  playing  in  front  of  the  door ;  and  a  black-headed 
linnet  was  singing  in  its  cage. 

It  was  a  beautiful  picture  of  contented  country  life. 

"Look,  Mdllc  Sophie,"  said  I  drawing  her  attention  to 
the  scene.  "  Would  a  little  place  like  that,  with  a  man 
who  had  the  honor  of  being  beloved  by  you,  suffice  for 
your  ambition  ?  " 


76  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

"  Who  told  you  that  I  had  ambition,  Rene  ?" 

"  I  ask  you,  do  you  think  that  you  could  be  happy  under 
those  circumstances  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me. 

"  You  see,  then,  that  I  am  now  miserable  ?  " 

"  You  told  me  so  in  a  letter,  when  I  was  staying  at 
Varennes,  eight  months  ago." 

"  And  have  you  not  forgotten  what  I  wrote  to  you  so  long 
as  eight  months  ago  ?  " 

I  drew  a  little  portfolio  from  my  pocket,  and  out  of  it  I 
took  a  little  scrap  of  paper,  on  which  was  written,  in  her 
hand — 

•'I  have  no  friend,  Rene;  will  you  be  one?  I  am  very 
unhappy." 

"  If  the  paper  is  a  little  crumpled,"  said  I,  "  it  is  because 
a  day  has  never  passed  without  my  reading  it." 

"  Then  how  is  it  that  I  have  never  seen  you  since  that 
morning,  Rene  ?  " 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  Since  you  wrote  to  me  you  cannot 
have  doubted  me." 

"  You  have  a  good  heart,  Rene,,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  see 
you  to  get  that  opinion  from  you." 

"  That  is  well.  If  you  had  had  need  of  me,  you  had  but 
to  write,  and  I  should  have  been  with  you  in  a  moment. 
At  first,  day  after  day,  I  hoped  for  a  letter.  Oh,  if  I  had 
received  one  ! — had  it  been  only  the  one  word  '  Come  ! ' — ■ 
with  what  joy  would  I  have  flown  to  your  side  !  But  such 
happiness  was  not  for  me.  Days,  weeks,  months  passed, 
away,  and  I  remained  alone  with  my  sorrow,  without  ever 
being  called  away  to  offer  you  a  consolation." 

She  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  affectionate 
tenderness. 

"Ah,  Rene,  I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  you  ;  but 
not  hearing  from  you,  I  thought  that  you  had  forgotten 
me." 

"  Oh,  Mdlle.  Sophie  ! "  I  cried ;  "lam  not  sufficiently 
happy  or  unhappy  for  that." 

"  In  truth,  my  dear  Rene,"  said  she,  trying  to  smile, 
"you  have  quite  the  air  of  a  hero  of  romance." 

"  As  I  have  never  read  a  romance,  I  scarcely  know  what 
that  is." 

"  A  hero  of  romance,  Rene,"  said  Sophie,  smiling  at  the 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  77 

experimental  lesson  in  literature  she  was  trying  to  give  me, 
"is  a  man  who  loves  without  hope." 

"  That  is  good.  Then  am  I  a  hero  of  romance.  By  the 
bye,  what  are  these  heroes  supposed  to  do  '.'  " 

"Everything  impossible,  in  order  to  touch  the  heart  of 
the  woman  they  vainly  love." 

"  Then  I  am  ready  to  do  so  ;  but,  if  commanded  by  you, 
I  should  know  not  impossibility." 

"Do  not  put  your  life  in  danger,  Rene,"  said  Sophie. 
"  Sighing  for  that  would  not  benefit  either  of  us." 

Now  it  was  her  turn  to  stop,  and,  having  turned  the 
corner  of  the  road,  she  pointed  out  to  me  my  uncle's  house 
under  a  different  aspect,  but  still  how  beautiful  ! 

"  You  just  now  asked  me,  Rene,  if  that  house,  in  com- 
pany with  a  man  whom  I  loved,  would  not  satisfy  my  am- 
bition ?  Well,  Rene,  in  my  turn,  I  adjure  you,  in  the  name 
of  that  friendship  that  I  have  avowed  towards  you,  wish  for 
nothing  more  than  that  calm  and  peaceful  existence  that 
Providence  has  placed  in  your  way.  Follow  the  example 
of  your  uncle,  who,  for  eighty  years,  has  lived  in  peace 
with  himself  and  with  all  mankind,  without  seeking  to 
better  his  condition,  and  without  ever  wishing  for  a 
larger  house,  or  a  greater  extent  of  land.  In  fact,  this 
forest  before  us — is  it  not  his  ?  Do  not  its  trees  give 
him  shelter?  Do  not  the  birds  which  inhabit  it  sing 
for  his  gratification,  and  do  not  the  animals  that  make 
it  their  home  serve  for  his  food?  In  name,  it  belongs  to 
the  King;  but,  in  reality,  it  is  his.  Rene,  find  a  woman 
who  loves  you  ;  that,  I  am  sure,  will  not  be  difficult.  My 
father  tells  me  that  you  are  one  of  the  best  carpenters  that 
he  knows.  Ask  the  consent  of  your  uncle — he  will  not 
refuse  it ;  and  live,  as  he  has  done,  on  the  little  spot  where 
the  happiest  years  of  your  life  have  passed  away." 

In  my  turn,  I  shook  my  head. 

"  You  will  not  ?  "  said  Sophie.  "  What,  then,  do  you 
intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle  Sophie,"  said  I,  "  I  purpose  being  a 
man." 

"  Has  not  your  uncle  been  also  a  man,  Rene  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  a  man  useless  to  his  country.  The  times  in 
which  he  lived,  and  the  times  in  which  we  live,  are  differ- 
ent. The  tranquillity  which  existed  in  his  generation  is 
not  permitted  in  this." 


78  LOVE      AMD      LIBERTY. 

u  You  are  ambitious,  Bene  ?  "  asked  Sophie. 

"  It  is  not  ambition,  mademoiselle  ;  it  is  obedience  to  the 
designs  of  heaven.  There  are  times  when  every  man,  great 
or  small,  carries  his  mission  in  himself.  What,  then?  He 
must  keep  that  mission  till  it  is  fulfilled.  Who  knows  but 
that  even  I,  insignificant  as  I  am,  have  one  ?  You  have 
already  drawn  me  from  the  crowd  of  my  equals,  because 
you  condescended  to  take  my  arm.  It  was  not  all  that  I 
could  have  wished.  Oh,  Sophie,  I  ask  you,  here,  under  the 
shelter  of  these  great  trees,  the  most  sacred  temple  that  I 
know  of,  will  you  promise  to  be  mine  ?  Will  you  give  me 
all  the  love  that  you  can,  and  the  happiest  day  of  my  life 
will  be  that  on  which  I  can  prove  my  devotion  to  you  ! 
Oh,  Sophie,  give  me  hope  !  " 

"  I  believe  you,  Rene  ;  in  fact,  from  the  first  moment  I  saw 
you,  I  never  doubted  you.  Ah  !  why  were  you  not  always 
with  me,  to  support  me  with  your  arm  when  I  stumbled, 
and  with  your  heart  when  I  doubted  ?  I  have  called  on 
you  many  times,  Rene." 

"  Can  this  be  true,  Mademoiselle  Sophie  ?  "  cried  I,  filled 
with  joy. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "but  do  not  misunderstand  me.  I  do 
not  love  you.  I  never  shall  love  you,  Rene,"  continued 
she,  looking  me  full  in  the  face.  "I  feel  instinctively  that 
I  have  need  of  your  friendship.  Why  I  should  implore  it, 
how  it  can  be  useful  to  me,  I  know  not ;  but  still  I  feel 
sure  I  shall  have  recourse  to  it  some  day  ;  and  if  you  are 
away  from  me,  Rene,  on  that  day,  whose  help  shall  I  im- 
plore ?  If  you  are  near  to  me,  I  can  rely  on  you  ;  can  I 
not  ?  Again  I  say  to  you,  as  I  wrote  once  before,  I  am 
truly  unhappy." 

She  took  her  arm  from  mine,  hid  her  face  in  her  hand, 
and  I  could  see  by  the  heaving  of  her  bosom  that  she  was 
weeping. 

"  Mademoiselle  Sophie  !  "  said  I. 

"  Leave  me,  my  friend — leave  me.  I  do  not  like  to  weep 
before  you,  and  I  feel  that  I  must  weep." 

And,  with  one  hand,  she  made  me  a  sign  to  go. 

I  obeyed. 

She  sat  down  by  the  side  of  a  little  brook,  which  fell 
into  the  Bresme,  and  taking  off  her  hat,  which  she  placed 
by  her  side,  began  to  pluck  flowers,  and  throw  them  into 
the  water. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  79 

Sixty  years  have  passed  since  that  day,  and  I  fancy  that 
I  can  stiil  see  the  poor  child  with  her  golden  hair  floating 
in  the  breeze,  the  tears  coursing  down  her  cheeks,  throwing 
the  flowers  into  the  current  of  the  Bresnie,  which  would 
carry  them  to  the  Aisne,  the  Aisne  to  the  Oise,  the  Oise  to 
the  Seine,  and  the  Seine  to  the  sea. 

After  about  an  hour  had  passed,  she  got  up  silently,  came 
towards  me,  and  smilingly  took  my  arm. 

We  retraced  our  steps  to  m}r  uncle's  house. 

We  had  scarcety  arrived,  when  we  heard  the  sound  of 
wheels.     It  was  Father  Gerbaut's  carriage. 

Sophie,  who  had  not  spoken  one  word  all  the  way  home, 
seized  my  hand. 

"  Rene,"  she  said,  "  do  not  forget  that  you  have  given  me 
your  word  ;  I  trust  you." 

"  Mademoiselle  Sophie,"  said  I,  pressing  her  hand  to  my 
heart,  "  one  call  alone  can  be  stronger  than  yours — that  of 
my  country.'' 

M.  Gerbaut  stayed  about  an  hour  to  rest  his  horse,  and 
then,  with  Sophie,  mounted  into  his  vehicle. 

The  poor  girl  waved  her  hand.  Father  Gerbaut  cried 
"  Farewell !  "  and  the  carriage  disappeared  behind  a  clump 
of  trees,  which  hid  the  road  to  Meuvilly. 

I  returned  to  where  Sophie  had  been  sitting  down;  I 
picked  up  the  flowers  she  had  let  fall,  and  placed  them  in 
my  little  portfolio,  together  with  the  letter  which  she  had 
written  to  me  at  Varennes,  and  in  which  she  had  poured 
forth  all  her  soul. 


«  » »»  » 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    PEOPLE    IX    COUNCIL. 

Ox  the  morrow,  the  ninth  of  July,  '90.  we  were  en  route 
at  daybreak,  drums  beating  in  front  of  us,  to  assist  in  the 
celebration  of  the  grand  fete  of  the  general  federation. 

Father  Descharmes  embraced  inc.  with  an  expie.-sion  of 
sorrow  which  wounded  me  to  the  heart. 

"Perhaps  you  youngsters  are  in  the  right,-'  said  he,  "and 


80  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

we  old  men  are  in  the  wrong.     But  what  will  you,  my  child. 
One  cannot  give  up  in  two  days  the  creed  of  sixty  years." 
'  "  I  know  not  what  may  come  of  all  this,  but  I  hope  that 
my  eyes  will  be  closed  in  death  before  it  does  come." 

"  But  uncle,"  said  I,  "  although  it  would  be  a  great  treat 
to  me  to  go  to  Paris  and  see  the  fete,  still,  if  you  wish  it,  I 
will  not  go." 

"  No,  my  boy,  go  ;  and  heaven  grant  that  I  may  live  to 
see  your  return,  and  that  we  may  meet  again  in  this 
world." 

I  embraced  him  as  I  wept,  for  I  loved  him  dearly. 

Had  he  not  fed  and  clothed  me  and  brought  me  up,  and 
watched  the  infant  become,  under  his  roof  a  man  ? 

"Bring  my  arm-chair  to  the  door,"  said  he;  "I  do  not 
wish  to  lose  the  last  glimpse  of  the  setting  sun." 

I  obeyed.  Leaning  on  my  shoulder  he  reached  the  door, 
and  sitting  down  in  the  chair,  took  my  hand,  and  kissed  me, 
saying  "  Go  !  " 

I  departed,  returning  in  time  to  see  this  good  old  servi- 
tor of  royalty  die.  With  kingcraft  he  suffered,  and  with 
its  death  he  died. 

When  I  lost  sight  of  him,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  left  him 
for  ever,  and  I  felt  half  inclined  to  return  at  once,  never  to 
leave  him  ;  but  the  temptation  of  seeing  Paris  was  too 
much  for  me,  and  in  another  moment  we  were  in  sight  of 
the  houses  of  Islettes. 

A  surprise  awaited  me  there. 

The  inhabitants,  not  wishing  to  be  separated  from  their 
Cure,  had  put  him  into  a  little  carriage  drawn  by  a  horse, 
and  the  good  priest,  his  eyes  overflowing  with  tears,  was 
bidding  farewell  to  Mademoiselle  Marguerite,  who  wept  on 
the  steps  in  front  of  the  door  of  the  Presb3Ttery. 

In  those  days,  a  journey  of  forty  leagues  was  no  small 
matter,  and  the  poor  girl  believed  that  the  good  Abbe  For- 
tin  had  departed  for  ever. 

We  continued  our  route,  the  drums  beating,  and  the  car- 
riage rolling  ahead  of  us.  Some  of  our  party  pressed  on  in 
front,  to  form  an  escort  of  honor  for  the  worthy  priest. 

We  found  M.  Drouet  awaiting  us  at  the  head  of  the 
deputation,  on  the  Place  of  St.  Menehould. 

Amongst  the  deputation,  was  an  old  soldier  of  the  Seven 
Years  War,  who  had  served  under  Marshal  Saxe,  and  who 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  81 

was  present  at  the  battle  of  Fontenoy ;  and  a  sailor,  who 
was  in  active  service  at  the  time  of  the  birth  of  the  Bailli 
de  Suffren.  Both,  living  ruins  of  an  ancient  regime, 
wished  to  witness  the  dawn  of  a  new  era. 

M.  Drouet  had  placed  a  carriage  at  their  service,  but 
they  would  not  use  it.  It  therefore  proceeded  empty  in  the 
midst  of  the  cortege,  in  the  front  rank  of  which  the  two 
veterans  marched  with  heads  erect — a  benediction,  as  it 
were,  bestowed  by  the  dead  era  on  the  age  which  was  just 
about  to  dawn. 

All  the  high  roads  of  France  were  filled  with  processions 
like  ours,  all  hastening  to  one  great  focus — Paris. 

Xever  since  the  Crusade  had  so  great  a  number,  of 
their  own  will,  bent  their  steps  in  one  direction. 

All  along  the  road,  deputations  came  to  greet  the  travel- 
lers. 

They  offered  hospitality  to  the  old  men  and  priests.  It 
was  impossible  to  provide  for  all,  so  the  main  body  bivou- 
acked  in  the  open  air. 

Great  fires  were  lighted,  at  which  every  one  prepared  his 
simple  meal.  There  was  no  lack  of  wine  in  a  country 
which  particularly  cultivated  grapes. 

On  the  morrow,  at  daybreak,  all  started  at  beat  of  drum. 
"When  the  noise  of  the  drum  ceased,  all  joined  in  the  chorus 
of  the  Ca  ira  of  '90,  which  has  nothing  in  common  with 
the  menacing  and  bloodthirsty  Ca  ira  of  '"93. 

This  song  kept  up  the  energies  of  those  men  on  the 
march,  who  were  toiling  along  under  a  hot  July  sun,  to  the 
end  of  the  journey.  It  supported  those  laborers  who  were 
making  the  arena,  so  to  speak,  where  great  deeds  were  to 
be  done. 

We  have  said  that  it  was  with  an  unwilling  heart  that 
the  Assembly  decreed  the  federation — that  it  was  with  an 
unwilling  heart  that  the  city  had  sent  its  workmen  to  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  to  prepare  for  that  great  and  solemn 
reunion.  The  time  approached — the  work  did  not  proceed. 
"What  happened? 

All  Paris  rose,  and  proceeded  to  the  Champ  de  Mars 
carrying  various  implements  of  labor  —  one  a  pickaxe 
another  a  shovel,  and  so  on. 

And  not  only  did  tin-  people — not  only  did  the  Jmurgeosie 
do  this,  but  old  men  and  children,  lords  and  laborers,  ladies 
5 


82  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

of  rank  and  women  of  shame,  actors  and  actresses,  priests 
and  soldiers, — all  joined  in  the  work,  wliich  did  not  even 
close  when  night  fell  like  a  shroud  over  the  city  of  Paris. 

The  invalids,  who  could  not  work  on  account  of  then: 
heing  maimed,  held  the  torches,  to  lighten  them  at  their 
labors. 

Begun  in  the  morning  of  the  9th  of  July,  this  stupen- 
dous work  was  completed  in  the  night  of  the  13th,  two 
hours  before  sunrise. 

We  arrived  on  the  12th,  in  the  evening. 

Paris  was  crowded ;  but,  strange  to  say,  the  hotel 
keepers  and  letters  of  lodgings,  instead  of  raising  their 
prices,  lowered  them  considerably.  This  spoke  well  for  the 
disposition  of  Paris  towards  us. 

Truly  this  was  not  the  federation  of  France,  but  the  fra- 
ternal greeting  of  the  world. 

A  Prussian  Baron  —  Jean  Baptiste  de  Clootz,  better 
known  by  the  name  of  Anacharsis — presented  himself 
before  the  National  Assembly  with  twenty  men  of  differ- 
ent nations — Russians,  Poles,  men  of  the  north,  men  of 
the  west,  men  of  the  east,  and  men  of  the  south, — all 
habited  in  the  costume  of  their  country.  lie  came  to  ask 
permission  for  them  to  appear  at  the  federation  of  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  as  they  wished  to  represent  the  federa- 
tion of  the  world.    . 

Later  on,  this  same  Anacharsis  Clootz  wished  to  give 
twelve  thousand  francs,  to  make  war  against  roj'alty. 

One  may  imagine  my  astonishment  on  finding  myself  in 
Paris,  on  the  Boulevards,  gazing  at  the  ruins  of  the  Bas- 
tille. 

Drouet  pointed  it  out  to  me,  afterwards,  the  patriotic  work- 
men on  the  Champ  de  Mars.  I  rushed  to  join  them  ;  and, 
seizing  a  spade,  was  speedily  hard  at  work. 

My  fellow-workman  appeared  to  be  an  artizan  of  about 
fifty  years  of  age.  He  gave  orders  to  a  boy  about  my  age, 
who  was  close  at  hand. 

On  seeing  the  ardor  with  which  I  worked,  he  asked  me 
who  I  was,  and  whence  I  came. 

I  told  him  that  my  name  was  Bene  Besson  ;  that  I  came 
from  the  new  department  of  the  Meuse  ;  and  that  I  was 
apprenticed  to  a  carpenter,  by  trade. 

When  he  heard  this,  he  held  out  his  hand,  a  smile  illum- 
inating his  austere  visage. 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  83 

"  Take  that,  boy,"  said  lie.  "  If  you  are  an  apprentice, 
I  am  a  master ;  and  here  are  two  lads,  about  your  age,  who 
live  with  me,  to  learn  their  trade.  If  you  have  nothing 
hetter  to  do,  come  and  sup  with  me  to-night — you  shall  be 
made  welcome." 

I  shook  hands  with  him,  and  accepted  his  kind  offer. 
The"  French,  at  the  dawn  of  the  Revolution,  were  a  nation 
of  broth erSi 

As  the  clock  struck  fi.^e,  we  threw  down  our  tools,  gave 
ourselves  a  wash  in  the  Seine  ;  after  which  we  crossed  over 
to  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  entered  the  Rue  St. 
Honore. 

The  master  and  I  had  walked  side  by  side  all  the  way, 
the  two  apprentices  following  behind. 

He  asked  me  some  questions  about  our  department,  what 
political  opinions  we  had,  and  whether  I  knew  any  one  in 
Paris. 

I  answered  all  his  questions  with  becoming  modesty. 

My  companion  stopped  at  the  commencement  of  the  Rue 
St.  Honore,  on  the  left-hand  side,  opposite  a  church,  which 
I  discovered  later  on  to  be  the  Church  of  Assumption. 

"  We  have  arrived,"  said  he ;  "  I  will  go  first,  to  show 
you  the  way." 

He  passed  down  a  passage,  at  the  extremity  of  which  I 
perceived  a  light. 

I  involuntarily  raised  my  head,  and  read  on  the  facade 
of  the  house  these  three  words  : 

"  Duplay.  blaster  Carpenter." 

I  entered — the  apprentices  followed  me. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MY   NEW     PARISIAN    FRIENDS. 

The  carpenter,  Dupla}^,  in  contact  with  whom  fortune  had 
brought  me,  had,  at  that  period — that  is  to  sa}',  on  the  12th 
of  July,  1790, — the  celebrity  of  having  given  shelter  to  a 


84  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

notorious  revolutionist,  which  celebrity  afterwards  was  at- 
tached to  his  name,  his  family,  and  his  house. 

He  was  a  good  patriot,  and  attended  constantly  at  the 
Jacobin  Club  which  was  Held  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
where  almost  all  his  evenings  were  passed,  applauding  the 
speeches  of  a  little  advocate  of  Arras,  who,  though  ridiculed 
in  the  National  Assembly,  was  appreciated  in  the  Rue  St. 
Honore.     The  name  of  this  little  advocate  was  Robespierre. 

When  we  arrived,  we  found  the  table  laid  for  supper, 
through  the  forethought  of  his  two  daughters,  Estelle  and 
Cornelie.  Their  old  grandmother  was  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  Madame  Duplay  was  in  the  kitchen,  devoting  all 
her  attention  to  the  forthcoming  meal. 

I  was  introduced  to  the  two  young  ladies,  both  very 
charming  girls.  Estelle  was  a  blonde,  with  beautiful  blue 
eyes,  and  a  figure  wonderfully  symmetrical,  and  flexible  as 
a  reed. 

Cornelie  was  a  brunette,  with  eyes  black  as  sloes,  and  a 
stately  and  majestic  contour. 

Estelle  dropped  her  eyes,  as  she  curtseyed. 

Cornelie  smiled,  and  looked  me  full  in  the  face. 

Neither,  however,  paid  much  attention  to  me  after  the 
first  salutation.  I  was  younger  than  the  youngest  of  them 
— that  is  to  say,  in  their  eyes,  almost  a  child. 

As  to  the  apprentices,  one  appeared  to  be  about  eighteen, 
and  the  other  a  month  or  two  older  than  I. 

The  elder  was  called  Jacques  Dinant.  I  don't  know 
what  has  since  become  of  him.  The  other  was  Felicien 
Herda,  afterwards  a  celebrity  in  the  Revolution. 

This  latter  was  a  young  man — fair,  of  a  light  corftplexion 
— a  regular  child  of  Paris — irritable,  and  as  nervous  as  a 
woman.  The  nickname  which  his  comrades  gave  him,  as 
his  irritability  was  always  dragging  him  into  controversy, 
and  as  he  used  always  to  say  "  No  "  to  every  theory,  was 
"  Citizen  Veto." 

Need  I  say  that  the  veto  was  the  prerogative  of  the  King, 
and  that  it  was  through  his  wrong  use  of  this  privilege  on 
two  occasions  that  he  alienated  his  people. 

Madame  Duplay  appeared  from  the  kitchen,  with  the 
first  course.  I  was  presented  to  her ;  but  she  paid  even 
less  attention  to  me  than  her  two  daughters  had  done. 

She   was  about  thirty-eight  or  forty  years  of  age,  and 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  85 

must,  at  one  time,  have  been  beautiful,  but  with  those 
coarse  and  too  matured  charms  common  to  the  lower  orders 
of  the  people. 

She  shared  all  the  patriotic  opinions  of  her  husband,  and 
was,  like  him,  an  indent  admirer  of  Robespierre. 

There  was  a  discussion  during  supper  concerning  the 
relative  merits  of  the  Jacobin  leaders,  in  which  the  appren- 
tices took  part  as  equals  of  their  master. 

I  fancied,  somehow,  that  Fedicien  Herda  regarded  me 
with  an  evil  eye.  As  the  stranger,  I  had  the  seat  of  honor 
next  to  .viademoiselle  Cornelie ;  and  I  think  he  must  have 
looked  upon  it  as  an  encroachment  on  his  privileges. 

Although  well  read  in  antiquity,  I  was  profoundly  igno- 
rant of  modern  politics,  and  this  gained  me  the  pity  of 
M.  Duplay. 

I  knew  the  name  of  the  famous  Club  of  Jacobins,  where 
Monsieur  passed  his  patriotic  evenings,  but  of  all  else  I  was 
ignorant. 

From  that  bed  of  aristocratic  Jacobins  of  '89,  one  could 
not  foretell  the  springing  up  of  the  terrible  and  popular 
Jacobins  of  '93. 

Robespierre  alone  appeared,  but  he  began  to  assume  that 
pale  and  impassible  visage  which  was  never  forgotten,  if 
once  seen. 

Duplay  promised  to  take  me  to  the  Jacobins,  and  to  show 
me  him  who  was  known  among  them  by  the  title  of  an 
"  honest  man." 

Robespierre  had,  as  yet,  but  on  two  occasions  spoken  ; 
and  he  had  obtained  the  name  of  the  "  Timon  of  public 
affairs." 

I  know  not  if  it  was  the  view  of  Robespierre,  whom 
I  saw  that  night  for  the  first  time,  that  engraved  the  words 
on  my  mind,  but  I  know  this — that,  in  sixty  years,  I  have 
not  forgotten  one  word  of  his  biography,  or  one  lineament 
of  his  face. 

I  feel  that  I  could  draw  his  portrait  now,  as  life-like  as 
when  he  appeared  first  to  me,  on  the  platform,  preparing  to 
address  us ;  and,  from  that  time  to  the  end,  I  was  his  most 
devoted  admirer. 

Robespierre  was  born  in  1758,  in  that  old,  sombre,  eccles- 
iastical and  judicial  town  of  Arras,  capital  of  Artois,  a  pro- 
vince of  France  only  150  years,  and  where  may  yet  be  seen 
the  ruins  of  the  immense  palace  of  its  King-Bishop. 


86  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

His  father,  an  advocate  of  the  council  of  the  province, 
lived  in  Rue  de  Rapporteur.  The  young  Maximilian  was 
horn  there,  that  name  heing  given  him  in  honor  of  the  last 
conqueror  of  the  citj. 

Notwithstanding  his  hard  work,  the  advocate  was  poor; 
hut  a  wife,  older  than  himself,  helped  to  alleviate  their  pov- 
erty. She  died.  He  thought  the  burden  too  heavy  to  bear 
alone,  so,  one  morning,  he  decamped,  and  was  no  more  seen 
in  Arras. 

They  spoke  of  suicide,  but  nothing  was  proved. 

The  house  was  shut  up,  the  four  children  abandoned.  The 
eldest,  Maximilian,  was  eleven  ;  after  him,  came  his  brother, 
whom  they  called  "young  Robespierre;"  after  him,  two 
sisters,  one  of  whom,  called  Charlotte  de  Robespierre,  has 
left  some  rare  and  curious  memoirs.  The  other  sister  died 
three  or  four  years  after  the  disappearance  of  her  father. 

What  with  the  death  of  his  mother,  and  the  absence  of 
his  father,  there  was  enough  to  render  the  boy  serious  and 
unhappy.  The  friends  who  assisted  the  family  asked  the 
powerful  Abbe  of  St.  Vaast,  who  possessed  a  third  of  the 
town,  and  who  had  the  disposal  of  many  bursarships  at  the 
college  of  Louis-le-Grand,  to  give  one  to  young  Maximil- 
ian.    The  charitable  Abbe  complied  with  their  desire. 

He  started  alone  for  Paris,  with  a  letter  of  recommend- 
ation to  a  prebendary,  who  died  almost  at  the  same  time  as 
the  }roung  bursar  entered  the  college. 

It  was  in  that  ancient  building  that  the  young  pupil 
grew  pale,  sickly,  and  envenomed,  like  a  flower  deprived 
of  the  sun ;  away  from  home,  away  from  his  friends,  sepa- 
rated from  all  who  loved  him,  and  from  all  who  could  have 
brought  a  glow  to  his  cheeks,  or  imparted  happiness  to  his 
withered  soul. 

It  was  there  that  he  met  Camille  Desmoulins,  an  ecclesi- 
astical bursar  like  himself,  and  Danton,  a  paying  pupil. 

The  sole  friendship  of  his  boyhood  was  formed  with 
these  two.  How  lightly  that  friendship  weighed  in  the 
balance  we  know,  when  he  believed  that  the  moment  had 
come  to  sacrifice  it  on  the  shrine  of  his  country. 

Two  things  militated  against  the  firm  continuance  of 
this  friendship  ;  the  one,  the  gaiety  of  Camille  Desmou- 
lins ;  and  the  other,  the  immorality  of  Danton,  who  paid 
no  attention  to  the  reproaches  of  his  fellow-student. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  87 

Robespierre  paid  for  his  bursarship  with  laurel  crowns. 
He  left  with  the  reputation  of  being  a  sound  scholar — a 
reputation  which  gained  him  few  friends  and  little  honor. 
He  afterwards  studied  with  a  procureur,  entitled  himself 
to  practise,  and  returned  to  Arras  a  middling  lawyer,  but 
a  stern  politician,  and  having  learnt  to  smile  with  the  lips 
while  the  heart  was  filled  with  gall. 

His  younger  brother  took  his  place  at  college,  while 
Maximilian,  through  the  kindness  of  the  Abbe"  de  St. 
Yaast,  was  nominated  a  member  of  the  criminal  tribunal. 

One  of  the  first  cases  that  he  had  to  judge  was  that  of 
an  assassin.  The  crime  was  not  only  patent,  but  avowed. 
It  fell  to  Robespierre  to  pronounce  sentence  of  death. 

The  next  day  he  sent  in  his  resignation,  not  wishing  to 
be  put  to  a  like  test  again. 

That  is  how  it  was  that  he  became  an  advocate.  His 
philanthropy  made  him  the  defender,  in  place  of  the  con- 
demner  of  men.  Duplay  pretended  to  know,  from  certain 
sources,  that  Robespierre  had  never  undertaken  to  defend  a 
cause  that  was  not  just ;  but  even  were  it  just,  he  had  to 
uphold  it  against  all.  He  examined  the  cause  of  the  peas- 
ants who  brought  a  complaint  against  the  Bishop  of  Arras, 
found  it  just,  pleaded  against  his  benefactor,  and  gained  the 
day. 

This  rectitude,  although  it  had  no  material  influence  on 
his  fortunes,  increased  greatly  his  reputation.  The  province 
sent  him  to  the  Etats  Generaux,  where  he  had  for  his 
adversaries  all  the  nobility  and  clergy  of  his  native  State. 

For  adversaries  —  we  sa}^  too  much.  The  priest  and 
nobles  thought  too  little  of  him  to  regard  him  in  such  a 
light. 

This  contempt,  which  had  followed  Maximilian  to  college, 
pursued  him  with  greater  violence  now  that  he  had  attained 
a  seat  in  the  National  Assembly. 

He  was  poor  and  they  knew  it.  They  ridiculed  his 
poverty  ;  he  thought  it  an  honor.  Having  nothing,  receiv- 
ing: nothing,  but  his  salary  as  a  member  of  the  Assembly, 
a  third  of  which  went  to  his  sister,  he  still  lived.  When 
the  Assembly  put  on  mourning  for  the  death  of  Franklin, 
Robespierre,  too  poor  to  purchase  a  suit  of  black,  borrowed 
a  coat  for  four  francs,  which,  being  too  long  or  him,  excited, 
throughout  the  time  of  mourning,  the  irrepressible  mirth  of 


88  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

the  Assembly.  The  only  consolation  left  him  among  all 
this  ridicule  was,  that  no  one  doubted  his  honesty. 

"  Had  I  not  confidence,"  said  he,  in  one  of  his  speeches, 
"I  should  be  one  of  the  most  wretched  men  in  the  world." 

Yet,  notwithstanding  this,  the  man  was  not  popular. 
Some  few,  indeed,  through  a  species  of  instinct,  saw  that 
he  was  capable  of  great  things,  and  among  these  were 
Duplay,  his  wife,  and  his  two  daughters. 

All  these  details  were  given  me  during  supper  with  the 
persistence  of  conviction.  It  was,  therefore,  with  the  live- 
liest satisfaction  that  I  hailed  M.  Duplay's  offer  to  take  me 
to  the  Jacobins'  Club,  and  looked  forward  with  curiosity  to 
see  him  whom  they  called  honest,  and  afterwards  stamped 
incorrujytible. 


-<    »  ■  m     > 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

I    GO    TO    THE    JACOBINS'    CLUB. 

At  nine  o'clock,  we  left  the  house,  and  walked  up  the 
Rue  St.  Honore  towards  the  Palais  Royal. 

A  current  of  people  pointed  the  way,  stopping  at  the 
little  door  of  the  Jacobin  convent,  which  exists  to  this  day. 

I  knew  not  that  this  was  the  place  where  the  aristocratic 
and  literar}r  assembly  held  their  meetings  until  told  so  by 
Duplay. 

The  entry  was  as  difficult  as  that*  of  a  sanctuary.  By 
special  favor,  as  chief  carpenter  to  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
Duplay  had  a  card  of  admission. 

At  the  door,  Cornelie,  Estelle,  and  the  two  apprentices 
left  us,  plunging  down  a  staircase  veritably  built  in  the 
thickness  of  the  wall. 

I  asked  M.  Duplay  where  they  were  going.  He  told  me 
that  there  was,  under  the  church,  a  smaller  hall — a  sort  of 
crypt — where  the  workmen  and  their  wives  held  a  club — 
the  workmen  attending  in  the  day,  their  wives  at  night. 
They  there  explained  to  each  other  the  constitution. 

Two  ushers  kept  guard  on  each  side  of  the  door. 

One,  small  and  fat,  with  a  bass  voice,  was  the  famous 


LOVE      AND     LIBEKTY.  Stf 

singer,  Lais,  whom  the  habitues  of  the  Opera  applauded 
up  to  1825. 

The  other,  a  handsome  young  man  with  wavy  hair, 
un disfigured  by  powder,  and  a  generally  aristocratic  air, 
was  a  pupil  of  Madame  de  Gcnlis,  the  son  of  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  the  Duke  of  Chartres,  the  conqueror  of  Jemappes, 
and  the  future  King  of  France. 

Bjr  his  side  was  his  young  brother,  the  Duke  of  Mont- 
pensier,  for  whom,  with  great  trouble,  he  had  obtained 
admittance,  notwithstanding  bis  extreme  youth. 

On  entering,  at  sight  of  the  orator,  who  occupied  the 
tribune,  I  cried  out,  "  Ah  !  there  is  M.  Robespierre." 

In  fact,  after  the  portrait  M.  Duplay  had  given  me,  it 
was  impossible  not  to  recognize  him.  The  impression  he 
produced  upon  me  was  profound. 

Yes,  it  was  he,  although  his  face  had  not  yet  assumed 
the  grim  and  fantastic  appearance  that  it  did  later  on. 
There  he  was,  with  that  primly-brushed  olive-colored  coat, 
and  that  waistcoat  of  snowy  whiteness,  with  his  hair  pow- 
dered, and  thrown  back  from  his  brow,  the  skin  of  which, 
in  its  hideous  wrinkles,  reminded  one  of  the  parchment  on 
a  death's  head. 

It  was  that  wrinkled  face,  sullen  and  acute;  that  eye, 
with  its  tawny  yellow  pupil,  which  shot  between  its 
retracted  lids  a  glance  replete  with  malice,  that  seemed  to 
wound  aught  it  fell  upon  ;  it  was  that  mouth,  broad  and 
stern,  with  its  compressed  lips;  it  was  that  voice,  harsh  in 
all  its  notes,  and  resembling  the  laugh  of  a  hyena,  or  the 
scream  of  a  jackal  ;  it  was  the  whole  figure  of  the  man, 
quivering  with  a  nervous  spasm,  which  caused  his  fingers 
to  be  continuall}'  drumming  on  the  ledge  of  the  rostrum, 
like  a  pianist  on  the  keys  of  a  spinnet ;  it  was,  in  short, 
the  revolution  incarnate  with  his  implacable  good  faith,  his 
freshness  of  blood,  his  mind  determined,  bloodthirsty,  and 
cruel. 

As  we  entered,  he  finished  his  speech,  and  descended 
amid  shouts  of  applause. 

1  followed  him  with  my  eyes,  in  spite  of  myself,  into  the 
midst  of  the  crowd,  through  which,  small  and  thin  as  he 
was,  he  easily  passed.  Not  a  hand  but  was  stretched  out  to 
grasp  his,  not  a  voice  that  did  not  address  him.  One  man, 
dressed  in  black,  stopped  him,  as  he  passed  the  desk,  and 


90  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

said  one  word  to  him.  He  started,  his  face  expressed 
hatred  and  disgust,  and  he  passed  on  without  replying. 

"  Who  was  that  sombre-looking  man  who  spoke  to 
M.  de  Robespierre  ?  "  said  I,  to  M.  Duplay. 

He  smiled. 

"  It  is  a  customer  of  mine,  to  whose  intervention  with 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  I  owe  the  right  of  coming  here.  His 
name  is  M.  de  Laclos,  and  he  has  written  a  very  bad 
book." 

"  What  book  ?  "  asked  I. 

"'Les  Liaisons  Dangereuses.' " 

"  Well,  what  then  ?    Speak  lower." 

"  He  is  the  man  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans  ;  he  it  was  who, 
in  the  Cour  des  Fontaines,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  published  Le  Journal  des  Amis  de  la  Constitution. 
Robespierre  hates  him  on  account  of  his  fame,  but  he  is  all- 
powerful  here.  It  is  he  who  disposes  of  the  purse  of  the 
Prince.  Hush  !  M.  de  Sillery,  the  husband  of  Madame 
de  Genlis,  is  listening  to  us." 

All  this  was  Hebrew  to  me.  I  asked  who  M.  de  Sillery 
and  Madame  de  Genlis  were. 

"  Ah  !  of  course,"  said  he  ;  "  I  forgot  that  you  had  only 
just  arrived  in  Paris,  from  the  depths  of  some  impenetrable 
forest,  and  of  course  know  not  the  names  of  those  who  are 
around  us." 

"  I  fancy  that  I  know  the  name  of  M.  de  Sillery.  If  I 
do  not  deceive  myself,  he  has  been  sent  by  the  nobility  of 
Champagne." 

"  Good,  my  boy,  good  !  " 

"But  it  is  the  man,"  continued  I,  "that  I  do  not  know." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  all  about  the  man.  We  begin  to 
know  names,  as  well  as  men.  Charles  Alexis  Brulart  is  a 
marquis,  like  Lafayette,  but  having,  like  him,  renounced 
his  title,  on  the  night  of  the  4th  of  August,  he  calls  him- 
self Sillery,  as  I  call  myself  Duplay.  As  to  his  courage,  it 
cannot  be  doubted.  At  twenty  years  of  age,  he  assisted  in 
the  campaign  of  the  Indies,  and  gained  his  rank  at  the 
point  of  the  sword." 

"  What  rank  did  he  gain  ?  "  asked  I. 

"Captain  in  the  navy." 

"  But  he  wears  the  uniform  of  a  colonel  of  grenadiers." 

"  Yes.     He  has  left  the  navy  for  the  army  ;  he  is  the  ac- 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  91 

credited  agent  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  In  his  youth,  he 
was  called  Comte  de  Genlis  ;  that,  as  I  have  told  j'ou,  is  the 
name  of  his  wife.  She  has  acquired  a  double,  and  doubt- 
ful, celebrity,  as  the  friend  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  whose 
children  she  has  educated,  and  as  a  writer,  in  which  occu- 
pation she  is  at  present  engaged." 

"  But  what  does  M.  de  Sillery  say  to  all  this  ?  "  asked  I. 

Duplay  lifted  his  brows. 

"No  wonder  M.  Robespierre  is  not  his  friend  !" 

"  One  cannot  be  friendly  with  Robespierre  and  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  at  the  same  time,"  said  Duplay,  shaking  his 
head.  "  But  patience  !  "  All  eyes  are  turned  towards  a 
man  who  enters.  One  felt,  at  first  sight,  without  knowing 
him,  that  he  was  some  great  personage. 

An  immense  forest  of  hair;  a  head  resembling,  for  size 
and  marked  outline,  a  lion's  or  a  bull's,  indicated  a  ruler  of 
the  multitude.  I  had  not  time  to  ask  Duplay  who  he  was, 
for  every  mouth  murmured  the  word  "  Mirabeau  ! — Mira- 
beau  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Duplay  ;  "  there  is  the  hurricane  that 
brings  us  news.  Draw  near  to  him,  that  }^ou  may  say, 
when  you  return  home,  that  you  have  not  only  seen  and 
heard  Mirabeau,  but  that  you  have  touched  him." 

We  approached ;  but,  of  a  truth,  it  was  necessary  to 
approach  in  order  to  hear. 

All  the  audience  collected  round  him. 

I  looked  for  M.  de  Robespierre,  to  see  if  he  pressed  round 
like  the  others. 

He  was  isolated,  alone,  leaning  against  the  rostrum, 
with  a  disdainful  air,  watching  the  men  following  the  idol 
of  popularity,  like  a  shower  of  leaves  after  an  autumn 
storm. 

He  knew  that  the  crowd  never  drew  near  him,  incorrup- 
tible ;  but  it  rushed  after  Mirabeau,  the  corrupted ;  and,  at 
the  same  time,  he  both  envied  and  blamed  him. 

The  debate  of  the  National  Assembly  had  been  stormy. 
There  were  a  few  nobles  there,  who  witnessed,  with  pro- 
found grief,  that  union  of  all  the  parties  of  France. 

Mirabeau  had  been  insulted  in  the  rostrum.  A  gentleman, 
M.  Dambly,  had  threatened  him  with  his  walking-stick. 
Mirabeau  stopped  bis  speech,  drew  his  tablets  from  his  pocket, 
and  demanded  M.  Dambly's  address. 


92  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

He  cried  it  out  from  one  end  of  the  hall  to  the  other. 

"Very  good  I"  said  Miratfeau  ;  "you  are  the  one  hundred 
and  fiftieth  person  who  has  insulted  me,  and  with  whom  I 
will  fight  when  I  have  the  time.  Until  your  turn  has  come, 
hold  your  peace.  I  ask  the  President  to  make  you  pass 
your  word  to  that  effect." 

Mirabeau  related  the  story  with  incredible  irony.  All 
laughed — all  said  he  was  in  the  right. 

"  And  Lameth  ?  "  asked  several  members. 

"  Which  ? — Alexander  or  Charles  ?  " 

"  Charles." 

"Oh,  that  is  another  matter!  After  practising  with  the 
rapier  for  two  days,  he  could  not  decide  upon  any  tiling  ;  and, 
at  the  close  of  the  Assembly,  M.  de  Castrie  cried  out  that 
he  was  a  coward.  They  went  out,  and  fought,  and  Lameth 
received  a  rapier  thrust  in  his  arm." 

"  Is  it  true  that  the  sword  was  poisoned  ?  "  asked  one 
voice. 

"  I  know  not  that ;  hut  I  do  know  that  they  are  prepar- 
ing to  raze  M.  de  Castrie's  house  to  the  ground." 

This  news  was  greeted  with  a  shout  of  laughter. 

At  this  moment,  an  eager  voice  wras  heard,  urging  the 
debate.     Robespierre  was  on  the  forum. 

He  began  to  speak  in  the  midst  of  the  noise.  As  far  as 
I  could  judge,  he  spoke  for  union;  but  the  noise  and  ex- 
citement were  so  great,  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  hear 
what  he  said. 

But,  accustomed  to  noise  and  interruptions,  Robespierre 
continued,  with  that  indefatigable  perseverance,  and  that 
indomitable  stubbornness  which  made  his  greatness,  and, 
finally,  his  triumph. 

Robespierre  had  spoken  for  ten  minutes,  and  would,  pro- 
hably,  have  eventually  succeeded  in  gaining  silence,  had 
not  all  attention  been  distracted  from  him  by  another 
arrival. 

This  was  one  of  the  heroes  of  the  duel  which  Mirabeau 
had  spoken  of — Charles  Lameth.  He  carried  his  right  arm 
in  a  sling;  but,  with  that  exception,  looked  and  walked 
wonderfully  well. 

All  crowded  round  him,  as  they  had  done  round  Mira- 
beau, but  with  a  different  sentiment. 

Charles  Lameth  was  the  friend  of    all  the  intelligent 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  93 

young  men  who  composed  the  majority  of  the  Jacobin 
Club. 

Duplay  pointed  out  to  me,  successively,  Labarpe ;  the 
poet,  Chenier ;  the  painter.  David;  the  tragedian,  Talma; 
Audrien,  Ledaiue,  Larive.  Vernet,  Chamfort — all  men  of 
intellect.  Then  1  returned  to  the  rostrum.  Completely 
abandoned,  Robespierre  had  descended,  after  throwing'  upon 
that  gathering  of  life,  hope,  and  activity,  a  glance  that 
seemed  to  presage  evil  to  come. 

No  one  knew  that  he  had  ascended  the  rostrum  ;  all 
were  equally  ignorant  of  his  descent.  Perhaps  1  was  the 
only  one  who  noticed  the  look  of  malignant  hatred  with 
which  he  regarded  that  knot  of  literary  and  scientific  men, 
who  had  utterly  disregarded — whether  wilfully  or  not — 
himself  and  his  discourse. 

Presently,  Duplay  took  my  arm,  and  led  me  out  of  the 
ball. 

"  Return  in  a  year,"  he  said,  "  and  your  eyes  will  be 
opened.  There  will  be  fewer  plumes,  fewer  epaulets,  less 
embroidery,  but  more  men." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PARIS  BEFORE  THE  REVOLUTION. 

I  wished  to  go  to  the  Rue  Grange  Bateliere,  where 
M.  Drouet  lived,  and  where  he  had  appointed  a  rendezvous 
at  the  "  Hotel  des  Postes  ;  "  but  M.  Duplay  insisting  thai 
I  should  partake  of  the  hospitality  of  a  bed,  as  I  had 
already  done  of  the  table,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  well  refuse. 

It  was  arranged  that  I  should  share  Felicien's  room,  in 
which  they  made  me  up  a  bed.  On  the  morrow,  at  day- 
break, I  should  be  at  liberty  to  seek  out  M.  Drouet,  after  my 
hair  had  been  arranged  according  to  the  new  fashion. 

As  that  was  an  operation  which  must  be  performed 
sooner  or  later,  on  entering  the  house  I  seized  upon  a  pair  of 
scissors,  handed  them  to  Mademoiselle  Corneiiej  ana  asnea 
her  to  perform  on  me  the  same  feat  that  Delilah  performed 
on  Samson — viz.,  to  cut  off  my  flowing  locks. 


94  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

The  sacrifice  was  consummated  amid  the  laughter  of  the 
two  girls. 

One  person  alone  did  not  join  in  the  merriment  thus 
provoked,  and  that  person  was  he  whose  room  I  was  going 
to  share  for  the  night.  It  was  evident  to  me  that  he  loved 
Cornelie,  and  was  jealous  of  me — absurd  idea;  but  the  first 
stage  of  jealousy  is  absurdity. 

The  operation  was  over;  they  led  me  to  a  mirror  to  see 
if  I  were  satisfied  with  the  change  worked  in  my  personal 
appearance.  At  the  first  glance  I  felt  inclined  to  laugh 
myself;   I  was  more  than  clipped — I  was  almost  shorn. 

My  ridiculous  appearance  restored  Felicien  to  good  humor 
with  Mademoiselle  Cornelie ;  and,  as  the  servant  appeared 
to  announce  that  the  room  was  prepared^  he  asked  me  to 
follow  him,  and  he  would  show  the  way. 

The  first  things  that  I  remarked  on  entering  the  room 
were  a  pair  of  fencing  foils,  and  a  couple  of  masks  to  pro- 
tect the  face.  I  thought  these  rather  strange  ornaments  for 
the  bed-chamber  of  an  apprenticed  carpenter. 

"  Do  you  know  what  those  are  for  ?  "  asked  he  with  a 
braggart  air. 

"  Yes,"  replied  I. 

"  Can  you  use  them  ?  " 

"Not  particularl}'  well  at  present;  but  another  month 
or  two  in  the  Salle  d'Armes  will  improve  me,  I  hope." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  he,  "  if  you  like,  we  will  have  a 
bout." 

"  I  am  not  sure  whether  I  shall  be  able  to.  I  fear  that 
M.  Drouet  will  be  anxious  about  me." 

"  Will  you  have  a  bout  now  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied,  "  if  you  wish  it ;  but  we  have 
plenty  of  time  before  us.  I  shall  not  leave  Paris  without 
returning  to  thank  M.  Duplaj',  and  then  we  shall  have  a 
better  opportunity." 

These  evasive  answers  made  Felicien  think  that  I  was 
not  particularly  anxious  to  cross  foils  with  him  ;  so  he  com- 
menced a  recital  of  his  prowess  and  so,  kindly  lulled  me  to 
sleep. 

I  awoke,  as  usual,  at  daybreak,  and  slipping  quietly  out 
of  bed,  I  dressed  myself  with  as  little  noise  as  possible, 
so  as  not  to  awaken  Felicien,  and  when  ready,  I  left  the 
room,  and  descended  into  the  court. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  95 

All  of  M.  Duplay's  household  were  asleep,  but  the  door 
was  left  open,  so  that  I  did  not  waste  an  instant. 

The  clock  of  the  Church  of  Assumption  sounded  the 
half-after  four  o'clock  as  J  left  the  house.  I  was  utterly 
incapable  of  finding  my  way  about  Paris,  in  which  I  had 
arrived  only  the  evening;  before  ;  but  the  solemnity  to  be 
observed  on  the  morrow  had  early  drawn  crowds  abroad,  so 
the  streets  were  pretty  full  notwithstanding  the  untimely 
hour. 

I  asked  my  nearest  route  ;  they  pointed  out  to  me  the 
Boulevards.  Arrived  there,  I  had  only  to  follow  that  by 
no  means  despicable  portion  of  ni}7  body,  my  nose,  and,  in 
a  very  short  time,  I  discovered  the  Rue  Grange  Bateliere. 
Ten  minutes  after,  I  entered  the  "  Hotel  des  Fostes,"  and 
discovered,  to  my  great  joy,  that  M.  Drouet  was  within. 

I  rushed  to  his  chamber,  and  opened  the  door  gently. 
He  was  not  only  awake,  but  on  his  feet. 

"Ah!  there  you  are!"  said  he,  after  having  looked  at 
me  for  an  instant  without  having  recognised  me,  on  account 
of  the  disappearance  of  my  hair.  "  Where  have  you  been, 
you  vagabond?  I  have  been  in  a  nice  state  of  mind,  I  can 
assure  yon.  It  appears  that  you  have  been  taken  in  a  trap, 
like  a  fox,  and  been  compelled  to  leave  your  tail  behind 
you." 

But  you  also  have  acquiesced  in  the  mode." 

"  Yes  ;  but  not  with  the  same  enthusiasm  as  you.  You 
have  been  foolish  enough  to  cross  the  Pont  Neuf,  my  boy." 

Not  knowing  what  happened  on  the  Pont  ISTeuf,  I  could 
not  appreciate  M.  Drouet's  pleasantry. 

I  told  him  all  that  had  happened — from  my  meeting  with 
the  carpenter,  on  the  Champ  de  Mars,  to  my  visit  to  the 
Jacobin  Club. 

"Very  good,"  said  Drouet.  "You  passed  last  night 
among  the  aristocracy — you  shall  pass  this  among  the  ca- 
naille" 

"  Shall  we  spend  the  night  together  ?  "  cried  I,  joyously. 

"  Yes;  I  will  take  _you  to  the  Cordeliers,  where  you  will 
meet  neither  dukes,  nor  princes,  nor  marquises,  but  three 
citizens,  whom  you  tell  me  you  have  often  thought  of — to 
wit,  Marat,  Danton,  and  Camille  Desmoulins ;  in  the 
meantime,  we  will  take  a  stroll  round  Paris." 

"  What  I  wish  most  to  see,  M.  Drouet,  is  the  Bastille." 

"  You  mean  to  say,  the  place  where  it  stood  ?  " 


96  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

"  Yes." 

"  Come  along,  then  ;  we  will  breakfast  at  the  first  restau- 
rant we  find,  and  then,  hey  !  for  the  Place  de  la  Bastille." 

M.  Drouet  knew  Paris  very  well,  having  been  there 
about  twenty  times. 

We  were  not  long  before  we  arrived  at  a  wall,  on  which 
was  written,  in  large  letters  : — 

"  Here  was  the  Bastille." 

TV hy  did  the  germs  of  the  Revolution  suffocate  them- 
selves under  those  dismal  arches?  Why,  in  1300,  did  they 
discourse  the  holy  gospel  ?  Why,  during  the  captivity  of 
King  John,  did  the  Provost  of  Paris,  Etienne  Marcel, 
making  himself  a  dictator,  establish  a  popular  club  there, 
equal  to  that  of  the  eighteenth  century  ?  Why  were  the 
Cordeliers,  especially,  of  all  the  minor  orders  Of  St.  Francis, 
republican  in  their  tendencies — so  much  so,  that,  three 
centuries  before  Barbeuf  and  Prudhomme,  they  had 
dreamt  the  abolition  of  the  rights  of  property  ? 

The  13th  of  July  was  Vesuvius,  with  its  fire-ejecting 
crater,  threatening  to  destroy  Naples,  and  overturn  the 
world. 

To-day,  all  has  ended  in  smoke — with,  perhaps,  a  few 
cinders  as  a  memorial. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

I   ATTEND    A    MEETING    AT    THE    CORDELIERS. 

We  were  engulfed,  so  to  speak,  M.  Drouet  and  I,"  in  the 
cave  of  the  Cordeliers. 

The  hall  was  deep  and  broad,  and  lighted  with  smoky 
lamps  ;  a  cloud  formed  bjr  their  smoke,  and  the  breath  of 
the  audience,  floated  over  our  heads,  and  seemed  to  weigh 
heavily  upon  our  chests. 

There  were  no  cards  of  admission — any  one  might  come 
who  liked  ;  the  consequence  was  that  the  hall  was  crowded 
to  excess,  and  every  one  ran  a  chance  of  suffocation.  At 
the  end  of  a  minute,  by  means  of  vigorous  pressure,  we  man- 
aged to  force  a  passage  into  the  body  of  the  hall. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  97 

At  first,  we  were  obliged  to  keep  our  eyes  shut,  on  account 
of  the  smoky  atmosphere  ;  but  when  we  got  accustomed  to 
it,  we  could  tee  objects,  as  it  were,  through  a  dense  fog. 

I  raised  myself  up  on  tiptoe,  to  see  the  popular  man,  par 
excellence.     All  cried  out,  "Vive  Lafayette! 

We  passed  the  Tuileries,  and  the  door  of  the  clock-tower, 
and  gained  a  bridge.  A  sort  of  sympathy  drew  us  to  the 
Champ  do  Mars. 

There  was  the  same  amount  of  bustle  as  on  the  day  be- 
fore. A  hundred  thousand  workmen  were  throwing  up  the 
earth,  and  forming  a  valley  between  two  hills. 

The  work  progressed  as  if  under  the  wave  of  an  enchant- 
er's rod.  There  was  no  doubt  but  that  all  would  be  ready 
for  the  morrow,  so  that  in  seven  days  the  gigantic  under- 
taking would  have  been  completed.  The  middle  of  the  place 
was  entirely  clear.  Here  they  erected  the  altar  of  the 
country,  and  in  front  of  the  Ecole  Militaire,  built  up  seats 
for  the  King  and  the  Assembly. 

At  the  end  of  a  wooden  bridge  thrown  over  the  river,  near 
Chaillot,  they  erected  a  triumphal  arch. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  become  maddened  amid  this  con- 
fusion. We  could  resist  no  longer,  but  seizing  the  nearest 
implements  that  lay  nearest  at  hand,  we,  with  a  shout  of 
"  Vive  la  nation  !  "  set  ourselves  to  work  with  the  rest. 

At  six  o'clock  we  ceased,  heated  with  our  exertions.  We 
were  hungry.     It  was  useless  to  look  for  a  restaurant. 

At  eight  o'clock  we  left  the  Champ  de  Mars,  and  passing 
through  the  Boulevards  des  Invalides,  and  the  Rue  Pluinet, 
we  shaped  our  course  to  the  Cordeliers. 

An  immense  crowd  of  people — some  fifty  or  sixty  thous- 
and, perhaps — filled  the  place  and  the  adjacent  streets. 

Those  who  had  been  unable  to  find  lodgings  had 
encamped  there,  or  on  the  Boulevards. 

Being  anxious  to  see  historical  localities,  I  asked  M.  Drouet 
to  take  me  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  We  went  up  to  the 
Rue  St.  Autoine,  M.  Drouet  showing  me  the  steps  on 
which  they  had  slain  De  Launay,  the  lantern  on  which 
they  had  hung  Foulon,  and  the  corner  of  the  quay  where 
they  had  killed  Flesselles. 

Everywhere — on  the    boulevards,  in  the    places,  in  the 
churches,  on  the  bridges — all  was  gaiety  ;  every  one  was 
shaking    hands  with    everybody ;    strangers   in  a  moment 
6 


98  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

became  old  friends.  A  shout  of  "  Vive  le  Roi  !  "  surround- 
ed you  with  friends — a  shout  of  "  Vive  la  nation  ! "  with 
brothers. 

After  dinner,  we  proceeded  to  the  Jacobin  Club.  It  was 
crowded,  like  all  the  rest — if  possible,  more  so. 

"  Look,  look !  "  said  M.  Jean  Baptiste,  the  moment  it 
was  possible  to  see. 

"  Look  !     Where  ?  "  said  I. 

"  There — on  the  President's  chair,  between  two  candles  ! 
Do  you  see  any  one  ?  " 

"  Oh,  M.  Drouet !  "  said  I,  trembling. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  I  say  that  it  is  not  a  man  whom  you  point  out  to  me." 

"  What  is  he,  then  ?  " 

"  A  monster  !  " 

"  Good  !  Look  at  him  for  some  length  of  time,  and  you 
will  get  accustomed  to  his  face,  all  hideous  as  it  is." 

That  man  was  M.  Danton. 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  shook  with  a  fury  that  seemed  to 
animate  all  he  did. 

In  a  moment  all  was  silence. 

His  mouth,  like  the  top  of  a  cyclops,  opened,  and  a  voice, 
which  could  have  thundered  down  the  noise  had  it  contin- 
ued, pronounced  these  words,  "  It  is  Marat's  turn  to 
speak  !  " 

Let  us  say  a  word  or  two  about  Marat  before  we  proceed 
any  further. 

Marat  was  born  in  1744,  at  Neuchatel.  He  was,  at  the 
period  of  which  I  speak,  forty-six  years  of  age.  His 
mother,  nervous  and  romantic,  was  ambitious  enough  to  try 
and  make  her  son  a  second  Rousseau.  His  father,  a  Prot- 
estant clergyman,  well  read  and  hard-working,  taught  his 
son  the  elements  of  science,  and  all  the  other  branches  of 
knowledge  that  he  was  acquainted  with,  so  that  the  young 
man  resembled  a  dictionary  full  of  errors,  and  without  even 
method  or  form. 

His  grandfather  nicknamed  him  Mara — the  "t"  is  an 
addition  of  his  father's,  or  his  own.  He  had  been  a  teacher 
of  languages  in  England,  and*  understood  English  pretty 
well.  He  also  dabbled  a  little  in  physiology  and  chemistry, 
but  in  a  slight  degree.  In  '89  he  became  veterinary  sur- 
geon to  the  Comte  D'Artois. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  99 

On  the  14th  of  July,  the  day  of  the  taking  the  Bastille, 
he  found  himself  on  the  Pout  Neuf,  and  escaping  being 
crushed  to  death  by  a  detachment  of  hussars.  Marat  ordered 
them,  in  the  name  of  the  people,  to  throw  down  their  arms 
— so  he  said,  at  least,  but  no  oue  believed  it. 

Marat  was  not  brave.  He  hid  himself  all  day  for  the 
flight.  He  said  that  the  satellites  of  Lafayette  and  De 
Bailly  were  looking  for  him,  whereas,  in  fact,  they  never 
thought  of  him.  In  the  evening,  he  crept  out  like  a  beast 
of  prey ;  his  eye,  yellow  as  that  of  an  owl,  seemed  better 
adapted  for  seeing  in  the  dark  than  in  the  daylight.  He 
lived,  creeping  from  hiding-place  to  hiding-place,  never  see- 
ing the  light  of  day,  and  writing  continually,  imparting  to 
his  compositions  all  the  bitterness  and  acerbity  of  his 
forced  mode  of  life.  From  time  to  time  he  would  exalt  and 
provoke  himself  to  blood.  The}'  say  that  blood  was  his  or- 
dinary  drink — that  he  imbibed  it  when  he  was  thirsty. 
His  physician  shook  his  head,  and  said,  "  Marat  writes 
red."  His  friends  the  journalists  lifted  him  up  to  laugh  at 
him.  They  called  him  the  divine  Marat.  The  people  took 
a  leaf  out  of  their  book,  and  called  him  a  god.  Let  Marat 
do  what  he  liked,  the  people  applauded.  Marat  did  more 
than  lead  them — he  gave  them  room  for  amusement. 

Amid  the  murmur  of  applause  which  greeted  him — 
applause  which  had  been,  in  conjunction  with  silence, 
denied  to  Robespierre  the  evening  before  Danton,  opening 
the  door  of  the  rostrum,  said,  "  It  is  Marat's  turn  to 
speak  !  " 

Scarcely  had  the  words  been  pronounced,  when  Marat 
was  seen  mounting  the  steps  leading  to  the  rostrum,  in 
which  he  appeared,  with  a  lurid  smile  on  his  coarse  mouth, 
seeming  to  embody,  at  one.  and  the  same  time,  three  dis- 
tinct genera :  the  man,  the  frog,  and  the  serpent. 

That  Thing,  dressed  in  almost  rags,  with  dishevelled 
hair,  squinting  eyes,  broad  nose,  and  hideous  appearance, 
was  the  Friend  of  the  People  !  They  had  concluded  by 
giving  Marat  the  name  of  his  journal. 

At  last,  his  hideous  head  appearing  over  the  ledge  of  the 
rostrum,  radiant  with  pride,  and  held,  as  it  were,  defiantly 
back  to  hide  a  neck  covered  with  ulcers,  all  cried  out, 
"  Speak,  Marat,  speak  !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Marat,  with  a  deep  voice,  "  I  am  going 
to." 


100  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

All  was  hushed,  as  if  by  magic.  Danton  covered  his 
face  wjA  his  hands,  and  listened  with  a  smile  of  scorn, 
while  a  young  man  placed  himself  in  front  of  the  rostrum, 
his  arms  crossed  over  his  breast,  in  the  attitude  of  a  glad- 
iator, defying  his  enemy. 

"  Look — look  !  "  said  Drouet. 

"  At  whom  ?     Marat  ?     I  can  see  him." 

"  ~No,  no  !  that  young  man  in  front  of  the  rostrum." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Camille  Desmoulins,  the  man  of  the  thirteenth  of 
July ;  the  man  of  the  Cafe  de  Foy ;  the  man  of  the  green 
cockade  !  " 

"  Silence  !  silence  !  "  cried  out  several  voices. 

Marat,  hearing  a  whisper,  had  turned  -his  evil  eyes  on 
us. 

We  became  as  still  as  mice. 

"Great  treason!"  cried  Marat;  "but  that  is  not  won- 
derful— they  would  not  follow  my  advice ;  and  I  tell  you 
that  until  the  heads  of  some  of  the  National  Assembly 
ornament  pikestaffs,  things  will  go  wrong.  Do  as  I  tell 
you,  and  the  Constitution  will  be  perfect." 

"  Why — why — why — don't  you  send  a  mod-mod-model 
to  the  Assembly  ?  "  said  the  young  man,  in  front  of  the 
rostrum,  with  a  terrible  and  painful  stutter  in  his  speech. 

"  I  am  framing  it,"  said  Marat,  "  while  you  make  love, 
Camille,  I  think." 

"  Dream,  you  mean  !  "  said  the  same  satirical  voice. 

"  Silence  !  silence  !  "  cried  the  audience. 

"Yes  ;  I  am  preparing  a  scheme  for  our  Constitution." 

"  Tell — tell  it  us,  great — great  legislator  !  "  said  Camille, 
totally  disregarding  the  cries  for  silence. 

"  I  say  that  the  form  of  government  should  be  mon- 
archical," continued  Marat  ;  "  that  Monarchy  is  the 
guiding-star  of  France,  and  that  the  person  of  the  King 
should  be  sacred,  only  to  be  approached  through  the  medium 
of  his  ministers." 

"  Ai,  aristocrat !  "  cried  Camille. 

"  M.  Danton,"  cried  Marat,  furiously,  "  it  is  my  turn  to 
speak,  and  I  demand  silence  !" 

"  Silence  !  silence  !  "  again  cried  the  crowd. 

"  Citizen  Camille,"  said  Danton,  in  a  voice  as  satirical  as 
that  of  the  man  whom  he  reproved,  "  I  call  you  to  order !  " 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  101 

"  Then  ask  the  speaker,"  said  the  imperturbable  Camille, 
"  to  give  us  part  of  his  plans  for  the  legislation." 

"  Firstly,"  cried  Marat,  I  demand  that  the  blasphemer's 
tongue  be  cut  out !  " 

"  Well,  cut  my  to-to-to-tongue  out !  I  blas-blas-blas- 
pheme  !     I  say  Marat  is  a  fool !  " 

And,  suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  he  protruded  his 
tongue  at  Marat,  and  made  a  grimace. 

Some  of  the  audience  could  not  avoid  laughing. 

Marat  was  mad  with  rage. 

"  I  again  say,"  said  he,  "  in  my  project  for  our  Constitu- 
tion, that  the  city  is  burdened  with  two  hundred  thousand 
poor  people.     I  argue  the  right  of  the  poor  to  share." 

"  Good  !  "  said  Camille.  "  We  are  ready  ;  let  us  plun- 
plun-pl  under !  " 

"Yes,  plunder!"  cried  Marat,  rapidly  becoming  more 
and  more  excited.  "  When  one  has  nothing,  he  has  a  right 
to  take  the  superfluities  of  the  rich — rather  than  starve,  he 
has  the  right  to  take  and  devour  their  palpitating  flesh  ! 
Let  man  commit  what  outrage  he  likes  on  his  fellow-men — 
it  is  no  worse  than  a  wolf  killing  a  sheep  !  " 

"  Marat  has  asked  for  me  to  be  called  to  order :  I  ask 
that  he  may  be  called  to  reason." 

"Why  should  1  have  pity  on  men?"  yelled  Marat. 
"Firstly,  pity  is  only  a  folly,  acquired  in  society.  In 
nature,  neither  man  nor  inferior  animals  know  pity.  Does 
Bailly,  who  tracks  me,  or  Lafayette,  who  hunts  me  down, 
or  the  National  Guards,  who  seek  to  slay  me,  know  pity  ?  " 

"  Who  prevents  your  eating  them  ?  "  said  Camille. 

"  No,  no  ! "  said  Marat,  sneering  at  Camille  in  his  turn. 
"No,  I  will  not  eat  them  ;  I  will  leave  Lafayette  to  the 
women,  and  will  cry  unto  them,  '  Make  him  an  Abelard  ! ' 
I  will  leave  Bailly  to  the  people,  and  will  cry  unto  them, 
*  Hang  him,  as  you  have  hanged  Foulon,  as  you  have 
hanged  Flesselles ! '  I  will  ask  for  the  heads  of  the 
National  Guards — I  will  ask  for  the  heads  of  the  aristocrats 
— I  will  ask,  not  for  six  hundred  heads  as  I  did  yesterday, 
but  for  nineteen  thousand  four  hundred  !  " 

"  Make  it  twen-twent}'  thousand,  round  numbers  !  " 

The  admirers  of  Maret  chafed.  Marat's  mouth  shut,  his 
eyes  darted  lire,  his  head  was  drawn  hark  ;  he  looked  as  if 
he  could  have  swallowed  his  adversary  at  one  mouthful. 


102  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

The  friends  of  Camille,  Trerone,  and  Danton,  the  ene- 
mies-of  Marat,  took  the  part  of  Camille  Desmouslins. 

They  would  have  come  to  blows,  despite  Danton's  contin- 
uously ringing  the  bell  for  order,  and  his  terrible  voice 
sounding  far  above  the  din,  and  crying,  "  Silence ! 
silence  ! " 

I  passed  with  M.  Drouet  to  the  side  of  Camille  Desmou- 
lins,  for  whom  I  felt  a  sympathy  as  strong  as  my  hatred  of 
Marat.  The  attention  of  all,  however,  was  now  drawn  to 
the  entrance  of  a  new  personage,  on  whom  all  eyes  were 
fixed. 


«  » . »  ■ 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    FEMALE    ELEMENT    IN    POLITICS. 

This  new  comer  was  a  woman. 

But  a  strange  one,  having  a  good  deal  of  the  masculine 
in  her  composition — a  perfect  amazon — one  might  say  a 
virago. 

She  wa«  habited  in  a  long  dress  of  red  stuff,  surmounted 
by  a  cape ;  she  wore  a  plumed  hat,  and  a  large  sword  at 
her  side. 

I  touched  M.  Drouet's  arm. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  I ;  "  who  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  am  no  wiser  at  present  than  yourself,"  said  he ; 
"  unless  it  is — yes,  it  is  the  famous  Theroigne  de  Meri- 
court." 

I  had  once  or  twice  heard  the  name  of  the  heroine  of 
the  5th  and  8th  of  October — the  impetuous  Liegoise,  beauti- 
ful, but  terrible  ;  who,  at  Versailles,  with  a  smile  and  soft 
voice,  had  ordered  the  regiments  of  Flanders  to  lay  down 
their  arms.  An  unhappy  affection — the  treason  of  an 
unfaithful  one,  had  thrust  her  out  from  woman's  life.  She 
had  embraced  the  cause  of  the  Revolution  with  transport. 
It  was  her  last  love.  The  unhappy  woman  was  whipped 
by  the  Royalists  in  the  Garden  of  the  Tuileries,  became 
insane,  and  died  in  Bicetre,  or  Charenton,  I  forget  which, 
after  twenty  years  of  agony. 

But  at  present  she  was  young,  pretty,  proud,  if  not 
happy.     Alas  !  her  misplaced  love  had  seared  her  heart. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  103 

Her  entrance  was  great. 

"There  is  the  Queen  of  Sheba!"  cried  Camille  Desmou- 
lins,  stammering  inure  than  ever. 

Then,  turning  to  Danton,  "Rise  up,  Solomon,"  said  he; 
"  and  go  and  receive  her  Majesty  !  " 

She  stood  boldly  in  front  of  Danton,  put  her  hands  on 
the  hilt  of  her  sabre,  and  said,  "  If  thou  art  Solomon,  build 
the  temple.  We  have  space  enough  on  the  site  of  the 
Bastille,  or  better  on  the  Field  of  the  Federation.  I  will 
head  the  subscription." 

She  took  a  gold  chain  from  off  her  neck,  and  threw  it  to 
Danton. 

"  I  ask  to  speak,"  said  a  tall,  fair  man,  with  a  strong 
German  accent;  "  to  support  the  proposition  of  the  Citizen 
TluToigne." 

"  Citizen  Anacharsis  Clootz  will  address  the  meeting," 
said  Danton.     "Place  to  the  orator  of  the  human  race." 

The  Prussian  Baron  mounted  the  rostrum. 

"  Look  !  "  said  Drouet ;  "  there  is  a  republican  who  has  a 
hundred  thousand  crowns  a  year,  and  yet  they^say  that  only 
the  bootless  and  stockingless  are  revolutionists." 

"  Yes,"'  said  he,  with  a  soft  smile  and  quiet  voice,  which 
contrasted  with  the  harshness  of  the  former  speaker  ;  "  }res, 
I  second  the  motion  of  Citizen  Theroigne.  The  temple 
should  be  built  in  Paris.  Why  was  Paris  built  at  an  equal 
distance  between  the  Pole  and  the  Equator,  if  not  to  be  the 
centre  of  attraction  for  all  men  ?  At  Paris  will  one  day 
assemble  the  Etats  Generaux  of  all  the  world.  You  are 
laughing,  Camille,  }tou  eternal  grinner.  The  day  is  not  so 
distant  as  you  suppose.  Oh,  that  the  Tower  of  Loudon 
may  fall  as  did  the  Pastille  !  Oh,  that  a  second  Cromwell 
may  rise  from  insignificance  into  power,  and  the  tyrant  of  a 
day  will  be  seen  no  more  !  When  the  tricolor  of  liberty 
floats,  not  over  England  and  France  alone,  but  over  all  the 
world,  there  will  then  no  longer  be  provinces,  soldiers,  and 
vessels  of  war  ;  here  will  be  a  people,  and  better  than  that,  a 
family.  It  will  then  be  as  easy  to  go  from  Paris  to  Pekin 
as  from  Bordeaux  to  Strasbourg  ;  the  shores  of  the  ocean 
will  be  brought  together  by  a  bridge  of  ships  ;  and  the  East 
and  the  West  will  embrace  on  the  Champ  de  la  Federation. 
Rome  was  the  queen  of  nations  by  force  of  arms  ;  Paris  will 
be  the  same  by  dint  of  peace.     Think  not  that  this  is  mere 


104  LOVE      AND      LIBKSTT. 

imagination,  oh.  my  brothers  !  No,  the  more  I  think  over 
the  matter,  the  more  sure  am  I  that  I  am  right ;  and  the 
more   I  believe  in  the  poss  :   one  great  and  united 

nation.     Oh,  listen  to  '  of  reason  ;   may  patriotism 

D  your  hearts  to  build  up  a  temple  which  will  hold 
all  the  repres  .".  s  I  the  human  race.  Then  ten 
thousand  men  will  suffice  to  represent  the  universe  '  " 

-  Bravo  !  bravo  !  "  cried  all  from  all  - 

'■  Then?  are  plenty  of  hi  a  Is  I  chop  on  here  and  there,'' 
said  Ma: 

•  •  \\-ve-ves."  stammered  Camille  Desmoulins  :  "  six 
hundred  yes-yes-yesterday,  ninteen  thousand  four  hun-hun- 
dred  to-day  :  and  it*  a  to-morrow  arrives,  there  will  be  rif- 
rif-tifty  tl. 

••  A:  la  '..'.:■->."    ci  -you  err.  hut  on  the  side 

of  a  good  and  generous  heart." 

The  terrible  man  looked  at  him  with  as       -  md  he 

continued  :  u  Men  will  be  what  they  ought  to  be.  when 
one  can  say.  '  The  world  is  my  country,  the  world  is  mi:  .  ' 
hut  till  then,  there  are  more  proscriptions,  more  banish- 
ments, more"  exiles.  Nature  is  one  :  why  is  no:  - 
one  ?  They  are  divided  forces,  which  strike  one  another 
when  nations  are  driven  against  each  other  by  the  breath 
of  hatred,  and.  like  clouds,  they  strike  and  are  scattered. 
Tyrants,  we  wi<h  not  that,  and  the  proof  is  that  we  demand 
:    -  ■  I    ith.     Kill  yourselves,  slay  each  other.     Descend, 

0  kings,  from  your  thrones,  and  we  will  give  you  your 
choice  'twist  misery  and  a  scaffold.  Usurpers  of  s.wer- 
eigntv  !  Balthazars  oi  modern  times  !  is  it  possible  that 
you  see  not  on  your  palace  walls,  amid  the  g  I   your 

thousand  lamps,  the  s:         -     :    j  our  revelries,  and  the  crash 
_.  the  writing,  not  in  tire,  hut  in  your  people's 
blood.    M       .     '-  •  Lay  down  your 

sceptres    and    your   crowns,     i od   head  a  revolution  which 
delr-    rs         ga  from  the  _.    - 
the  rivalry  of  the  | 

"A-a-amei     "    -:..mmered    I  ilins.      Ana- 

Anaeharsis   wishes  to  carry   me    away   by  the  hair   of 
head,  as  the  angel  did  Habakkuk." 

■•  Long  live  Camille  Desmoulins  '  "  said  Theroigne,  while 
the  friends     :  the  true  son  of  \  t< -ndered  him  their 

hands.  "  If  ever  I  have  love,  it  shall  be  for  you.  I  promise 
you.     By  the  bye.  you  axe  fond  of  Sieves  ?  " 


LOVE    AND     I  105 

"  Y<  replied  ".  tween   you    and 

me,  he  is  the  only  one  w\  the  idea  of  a  man.'"' 

"  What  am  I.  then  ?  "  said  Danton. 

"  What  are  you  ?  "  said  Tberoigne,  scanning  him  from 
head  to  foot.      '•  You  are  only  a  bull."' 

'■  Well  re-re-replied,"  said  Camille ;  "  that  is  what  I  call 
taking  the  bull  by  the  horns." 

"In  the  meantime,"  cried  Marat,  "you  are  losing  sight 
of  the  public  safety.     I  speak  to  you  of  a  great    tare  . 
and  you  will  not  listen,  Lafayeti 

"  Ah,  good  !  "  said  Camille.     Go  on.  Marat ! " 

"Lafayette  has  caused  to  be  made  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine  ten  thousand  snuff-boxes,  all  of  -which  are  embel- 
lished with  his  portrait  as  General  of  the  National  Guard. 
Lafayette  aspires  to  the  dictatorship." 

"  Uf  tobacco  merchants  ?  "  queried  Camille  Desmoulin3. 

Marat's  yellow  tkin  assumed  a  green  tinge,  and  per- 
spired with  r.  _    . 

"  He  has  some  scheme  beneath  that,"'  continued  he  ;  u  so 
I  pray  all  good  citizens  in  whose  hands  these  snuff-boxes 
may  fall,  to  destroy  them."' 

"  In  order  to  discover  the  names  of  his  accomplices  ? " 
asked  Can   . 

"  There   are   many   of  them.      I  told   you    that    t 
thousand  pieces  of  cord  would  suffice,  but  bring  thirty  or 
forty  thousand,  and  you  will  not  have  enough." 

The  applause  drowned  the  voice  of  Marat,  hut  eventually 
their    breath    failed    them,   and    they    could    hear    Cai 
Desmoulins,  who.  like  a  swimmer  who  had  dived,  again  re- 
mounted to  the  surface. 

"Always  tragic,  friend  Ma-Marat — always  tragic  !  hyper- 
tragic,  in  fact." 

"And  these  cords,"  continued  Marat — "take  care, 
Camille  Desmoulins,  that  one  of  them  is  not  first  tried  on 
you." 

"  In  that  case.'"  replied  the  incorrigible  railer.  "  I  have  a 
chance,  if  they  take  me,  of  growing  ugly.      You  hai 

Here  the  laughter  broke  out  irresistibly,  and     - 
from   Cam  die's  side,  he  may  be  fairly  said  to  lave   gained 
the  victory. 

Marat  descended,  furiously  shaking  his  fist. 

"  Eeturn  to  thy  cave,  night-bird  '.     Go  back  to  thy  hole, 


106  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

hyena  !  Sneak  into  thy  nest,  viper!"  murmured  Danton, 
with  a  look  of  ineffable  disdain.  But  Danton's  murmurs 
were  like  thunder  ;  every  one  heard  them. 

When  Marat  left,  all  joined  in  brotherly  communion,  his 
presence  having  alone  restrained  them  hitherto. 

M.  Jean  Baptiste  knew  Danton,  and  went  to  shake 
hands  with  him,  and  to  compliment  Gamille  Desmoulins. 

I  could  not  turn  my  eyes  from  the  face  of  the  ex-advo- 
cate, that  terrible  blind  man  whom  Providence  had  given 
to  guide  the  revolution. 

I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  again  of  him,  and  to  show 
what  sensibility  of  heart  was  hidden  beneath  that  rough 
exterior. 

We  left  the  club  at  midnight,  and  returned  to  the 
"  Hotel  des  Postes,"  Rue  Grange  Bateliere. 

At  daybreak  on  the  morrow  we  had  to  be  under  arms. 


-♦—••—-»- 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    FIELD    OF    THE    FEDERATION. 

I  could  not  sleep  all  night- 

I  had  seen  so  much  since  my  arrival,  and  had  been  in 
company  with  so  many  great  men — Mirabeau,  Robespierre, 
Lameth,  Laclos,  Chemier,  Talma,  David,  Laharpe,  Danton, 
Marat,  Desmoulins,  Anacbarsis  Clootz,  and  Herbert — that 
their  names  continued  to  ring  in  my  soul  like  an  alarm 
bell. 

And  through  thevn  all  passed  the  beautiful  amazon  in 
her  red  robe  ;  and  that  seemed  so  strange  to  me,  coming  as 
I  had  for  the  first  time  from  the  Fort  st  of  Argonne,  and 
feeling,  as  it  were,  in  another  world,  or  else  in  a  state  of 
furious  delirium. 

I  arose  at  daybreak.  Alas  !  the  morning  was  dark  and 
rainy-looking ;  thick  black  clouds  were  chasing  each  other 
over  the  sky  once  so  pure  and  brilliant,  but  now  changing 
its  opinions,  and  becoming  aristocratic. 

I  awoke  M.  Drouet.  I  was  astonished  that  any  one 
could  sleep    on    the    night  heralding  in  such  a  day.     He 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  107 

jumped  up  and  dressed  himself.  We  took  our  guns,  and 
descended. 

We  soon  joined  our  friends  of  St.  Menehould  and  Islettes, 
formed  rank,  and  marched  to  the  Champ  de  Mars. 

At  the  door  of  Sainte  Honore,  we  met  the  orator  of  the 
human  race,  who  had  passed  the  night  at  the  Cordeliers. 

He  had  with  him  a  body  of  men,  Poles,  Russians,  Turks, 
Persians,  all  in  their  national  costumes.  He  took  them  to 
the  federation  of  France  before  he  took  them  to  the  federa- 
tion of  the  world. 

We  marched  by  the  river's  side,  and  soon  arrived  at  the 
Champ  de  Mars. 

A  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  j;>eople  were  seated  on  the 
slopes,  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  on  the  plain  itself,  and 
yet  there  was  sufficient  space  left  to  accommodate  fifty 
thousand  of  the  National  Guard. 

A  second  amphitheatre  in  a  semi-circle  formed  in  the 
space  between  Chaillot  and  Passy  accommodated  more  than 
a  hundred  thousand  people. 

Anacharsis  Clootz  was  right.  This  looked  well  for  a  fed- 
eration of  the  world. 

We  crossed  the  river  by  the  wooden  bridge  thrown  over  it 
at  Chaillot,  and  passing  under  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  enter- 
ed the  Charop  de -Mars,  and  arranged  ourselves  in  front  of 
the  altar  of  the  country.  The  honors  were  for  the  pro- 
vincial National  Guard. 

We  were  removed  only  a  hundred  paces  from  the  raised 
seats  destined  for  the  King,  the  Queen,  and  the  National 
Assembly. 

All  in  a  moment  it  began  to  rain.  It  was  now  eight 
o'clock,  and  as  the  King  and  Queen  were  not  expected  till 
ten,  there  was  plenty  of  time  to  get  both  wet  and  cold. 
Some  of  the  National  Guards  began  to  dance  a  farandole  to 
keep  the  warmth  in  them  ;  the  example  was  contagious, 
the  muskets  were  stacked,  and  each  man  choosing  a  partner 
from  among  the  female  spectators,  the  extraordinary  specta- 
cle of  two  thousand  people  dancing  at  one  time  commenced. 

At  half-past  ten  the  cannon  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
King,  and  the  drum  recalled  each  man  to  his  post.  The 
female  dancers  were  re-conducted  to  their  friends,  and  the 
guard  presented  arms. 

The  carriages  of  the  King,  Queen,  and  other  dignitaries 


108  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

of  the  realm  came  at  a  foot  pace.  They  stopped  at  the 
raised  benches  ;  the  King,  descending  first,  gave  his  hand 
to  the  Queen,  and  they  took  their  respective  places,  accom- 
panied by  the  Assembly. 

Now,  not  only  had  the  day,  but  the  moment  arrived. 

Stationed  close  to  the  benches,  of  which  we  had  an 
excellent  view,  I  had  been  awaiting  with  impatience  the 
arrival  of  the  King  and  Queen,  of  whose  personal  appear- 
ance I  had  formed  my  own  ideas,  which  I  am  bound  to  say 
were  very  far  from  the  truth. 

The  King  was  not- sufficiently  kingly.  The  Queen  was 
too  much  a  queen. 

While  the  King  was  bowing  to  the  people,  and  seating 
himself  in  the  midst  of  the  cries  of  "Vive  le  Eoi !  "  M.  de 
Talleyrand,  the  lame  bishop,  the  Mephistopheles  to  another 
Faust,  whose  name  was  Napoleon,  proceeded,  attended  by 
two  hundred  priests,  to  the  altar  of  the  country.  All  wore 
tri-colored  sashes. 

The  regimental  bands  strike  up,  but  are  scarcely  heard. 
But  fort}7  pieces  of  cannon,  discharged  at  the  same  time, 
command  silence. 

The  taking  of  the  oath  followed. 

Three  hundred  thousand  hands  are  uplifted  at  one  and 
the  same  time  on  the  Champ  de  Mars.  The  rest  of  France 
was  joined  in  spirit  to  those  who  swore  in  the  name  of  all. 

They  had  hoped  that  the  King  would  descend  from  his 
seat,  mount  the  altar,  and  there,  holding  up  his  hand, 
swear  in  the  sight  of  all  his  people. 

They  were  mistaken.  The  King  swore  from  his  seat, 
placed  in  the  shadow — in  fact,  almost  hidden.  The  idea 
that  struck  the  hearts  of  all,  was  that  the  King  swore  with 
regret,  and  without  intending  to  keep  the  oath  that  he  had 
taken. 

This  was  the  oath  that  all  knew  beforehand,  but  which 
few  could  hear,  thanks  to  the  fashion  in  which  the  King 
spoke  : — 

"  I,  King  of  the  French,  swear  to  the  nation  to  employ 
all  the  power  which  has  been  delegated  to  me  by  constitu- 
tional law,  in  maintaining  the  constitution  and  executing 
the  laws." 

Ah,  King,  King  !  it  is  with  greater  heart  and  better 
faith  that  your  people  have  sworn. 


LOVE     AND     LIBEETY.  109 

The  Queen  did  not  swear;  she  sat  in  a  reserved  seat, 
■with  the    Dauphin    and  the    princesses.     On  hearing   the 

King's  voice  trembling  and  hesitating  she  smiled,  a  singu- 
lar light  gleaming  in  her  eyes  the  while. 

M.  Drouet,  as  well  as  myself,  remarked  that  smile,  and 
he  frowned. 

"  Ah.  M.  Drouet,"  said  I,  "  I  like  not  that  smile  !  And 
I  never  could  have  believed  that  that  beautiful  Queen  could 
have  smiled  in  such  a  fashion. 

'•  The  Queen's  smile  matters  little,"  replied  M.  Drouet. 
'"The  King  has  sworn — that  is  the  great  point.  The  oath 
is  registered  at  this  moment  in  the  hearts  of  twenty-live 
millions  of  Frenchmen.  It  will  be  worse  for  him  if  the 
oath  be  not  kept." 

####### 

Every  time  that  I  have  been  to  Paris  since  that  day.  I 
have  paid  a  visit  to  the  Champ  de  Mars,  the  only  monument 
left  of  the  Revolution. 

The  last  time  I  made  the  pilgrimage  was  in  1853.  I  had 
come  to  buy  the  History  of  the  French  Revolution,  by 
Michelet. 

I  seated  myself  on  a  hillock,  and  much  in  the  same  way 
as  M.  Chateaubriand  on  the  ruins  of  Sparta,  cried  out  in  a 
loud  voice,  three  times,  "  Leonidas  !  Leonidas  !  Leonidas  !  " 
I  read  aloud  the  following  lines  of  the  eloquent  historian, 
which  chimed  in  so  well  with  my  own  thoughts  : — 

"  The  Champ  de  Mars  is  the  sole  monument  left  of  the 
Revolution.  The  Empire  has  the  Arc  de  Triomphe.  Roy- 
alty has  its  Louvre  and  its  Invalides.  The  feudal  Church 
of  l.L'OO  has  its  throne  in  Notre  Dame. 

"  But  the  Revolution  has  alone  for  its  monument  an 
empty  space. 

"  This  monument  is  sand,  and  desert  as  the  plains  of 
Arabia.  A  mound  to  the  right,  a  mound  to  the  left,  like 
those  which  the  Gauls  erected  in  memory  of  their  fallen 
heroes. 

'•  Though  the  plain  he  dry,  and  the  grass  be  withered, 
still  a  day  will  come  when  it  shall  be  again  clothed  in 
green. 

"  For  mingled  with  this  earth  is  the  sweat  of  the  brow  of 
those    who  on  a  sacred   day  raised    these  hills — on  a  day 


110  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

when,  awakened  by  the  cannon  of  the  Bastille,  France  pour- 
ed in  from  the  north  and  south — on  a  day  when  three  mil- 
lions as  one  man  swore  eternal  peace. 

"  Ah  !  poor  Revolution,  so  confiding  in  the  first  blush  of 
thy  youth,  thou  hast  invited  the  world  to  love  and  peace. 

"  Oh,  my  enemies  !  said'st  thou,  there  are  no  longer  ene- 
mies. 

"  Thou  heldest  out  thine  hand  to  all — thou  hast  offered 
the  cup  to  drink  to  the  peace  of  nations,  but  they  would 
not." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

I    GO    BACK   AGAIN. 


We  arranged  to  leave  Paris  on  the  following  morning. 

It  wras  three  hours  after  noontide  when  the  ceremony  was 
over.  I  made  a  rendezvous  with  M.  Drouet  for  five  o'clock 
at  the  "  Hotel  des  Postes,"  and  left  him  to  give  my  thanks 
and  bid  adieu  to  Maitre  Duplay  and  his  family. 

All  the  household  had  been  to  the  fete  of  the  federation. 

I  met  the  group,  consisting  of  M.  and  Madame  Duplay, 
the  two  daughters,  and  the  two  apprentices,  at  the  top  of 
the  Rue  St.  Honore. 

I  went  up  to  and  saluted  them. 

They,  too,  had  remarked  the  hesitation  with  which  the 
King  took  the  oath,  and  were,  in  consequence,  sorrowful. 

We  entered  the  house ;  the  dinner  awaited  us  ;  Duplay 
invited  me  to  join  them  ;  I  assented. 

During  the  meal,  Felicien,  sure  of  his  superiority  over 
me  as  a  fencer,  spoke  of  the  promise  I  had  made  to  try  a 
bout  with  him ;  and  asked  me,  if,  after  dinner,  I  was  pre- 
pared to  stand  by  our  agreement,  and  give  M.  Duplay  and 
his  daughters,  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  our  prowess.  I 
replied  that  if  it  would  please  my  worthy  hosts,  I  should 
only  be  too  happy  to  make  such  a  slight  return  for  their 
kindness  and  hospitality  towards  me. 

Dinner  finished,  we  passed  into  the  workshop,  Felicien 
evidently  expecting  an  easy  victory  over  me,  and  speaking 
much  as  a  master  would  to  a  pupil. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  Ill 

M.  Duplay  and  the  young  ladies  being  seated,  we  each 
took  our  mask  and  foil. 

"  Be  easy,"  said  Felicien,  in  a  whisper  intended  to  be 
heard;  "  I  will  not  hurt  you." 

"  Thanks  !  "  replied  I ;  "  for  I  shall  probably  be  at  your 
mercy." 

"  Would  you  like  to  begin  ?  "  asked  Felicien. 

"As  you  please,"  said  I. 

We  placed  ourselves  on  guard. 

At  the  first  pass,  I  saw  that  Felicien  tried  to  touch  me ; 
which,  between  strangers,  lacks  courtesy. 

However,  I  appeared  not  to  notice  it,  and  contented  my- 
self by  parrying  his  thrust. 

Now  came  my  turn. 

I  made  four  or  five  passes  only ;  but  they  were  sufficient 
to  show  me  that,  though  Felicien  was  a  tolerable  fencer,  he 
had  no  chance  with  me. 

I  had  paid  great  attention  to  the  instructions  given  me, 
as  I  wished  to  make  rapid  progress  ;  while  Bertrand  being 
an  able  master,  and  I  his  sole  scholar,  he  was  enabled  to 
devote  all  his  attention  to  me. 

Felicien,  also,  after  the  first  few  passes,  perceived  my 
superiority  over  him. 

I  allowed  him  to  make  five  or  six  thrusts  at  me,  simply 
contenting  myself  with  parrying  them. 

Once  he  grazed  the  wristband  of  my  shirt,  but  he  did 
not  dare  say  "  Touched  !  " 

I  saw  the  blood  mount  to  his  face. 

"  My  dear  Felicien,"  said  I,  "  I  have  been  three  hours 
under  arms,  and  am  fatigued.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I 
should  like  to  put  an  end  to  our  combat.  The  ladies,  1  am 
sure,  will  accept  my  excuse." 

"  They  may,  but  I  will  not,"  said  he.  "  I  know  full 
well,  by  the  strength  of  your  parries,  that  your  arm  is  not, 
fatigued.  Say  that  jrou  believe  yourself  to  be  a  better 
fencer  than  I  am,  and  that  you  are  generous  enough  not  to 
pursue  your  advantage." 

"  Then  you  wish  to  continue  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  If  you  are  the  better  man,  I  will  take  the 
lesson,  as  an  obedient  scholar  should." 

"  You  hear  the  promise  that  M.  Felicien  makes,"  said  I, 
turning  to  M.  Duplay;  "  and  you  are  witness  that  1  con- 
tinue  solely  on  that  agreement  ?  " 


112  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

"Yes,  yes!"  cried  all  the  spectators,  especially  the  two 
girls,  who  seemed  to  me  to  wish  the  pride  of  the  apprentice 
lowered. 

I  saluted  Felicien  with  my  foil. 

"  I  await  you,"  said  I ;  "  take  care  of  my  ripostas,  which 
are  very  rapidly  delivered." 

••  We  will  see,"  said  Felicien,  dealing  me  a  thrust  which  I 
had  only  just  time  to  parry. 

But,  at  last,  I  touched,  almost  imperceptibly,  his  breast 
with  the  button  of  my  foil. 

He  bounded  backwards;  and  while  neither  of  us  cried 
"  Touched  ?  "  yet  all  the  spectators  saw  that  it  was  so. 

He  again  rushed  on  me,  his  teeth  set,  his  lips  pale. 

He  crossed  my  foil,  and  passed  one,  two.  But  in  retreat, 
his  foil  caught  my  guard,  and  snapped  off,  about  two 
inches  from  the  button. 

But  he  continued  to  fight,  as  if  he  knew  not  that  his 
weapon  was  broken.  So  I  took  the  first  opportunity  that 
offered  ;  and,  twisting  his  blade  out  of  his  hand,  sent  it 
flying  across  the  room. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  I,  "  for  disarming  you  ;  I  know  that 
it  is  not  etiquette  ;  but  neither  is  it  etiquette  to  fence  with 
a  buttonless  foil.  You  might  have  dangerously  wounded 
me,  and  been  unhappy  yourself  ever  afterwards." 

Then,  taking  off  my  mask,  I  hung  it  on  the  waty,  and 
placed  my  foil  bjr  the  side  of  it. 

Felicien  saw  plainly  that  I  did  not  wish  to  continue  the 
combat ;  and,  without  taking  off  his  mask,  he  stalked  out 
of  the  room. 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  M.  Duplay  ;  "  you  have  read  him  a  good 
lesson,  and  I  must  say  that  he  deserved  it.  Now  then,  say 
good-bye  to  the  ladies,  and  let  us  be  off  to  the  Rue  Grange 
Bateliere,  where  you  will  introduce  me  to  M.  Drouet.  I 
need  not  tell  you  that  if  I  hear  of  your  coming  to  Paris 
without  paying  me  a  visit,  I  shall  be  your  bitter  enemy 
fur  life." 

I  bade  the  two  girls  good-bye,  and  we  set  out. 

As  I  expected,  Felicien  was  awaiting  us  in  the  court. 

The  moment  he  saw  me  come  out  with  M.  Duplay,  who 
evidently  only  came  with  me  to  prevent  a  quarrel,  Felicien 
began  to  divest  himself  of  his  upper  garments ;  but 
M.  Duplay  cried  out,  "  Come  here,  you  young  vagabond  ! — 
I  tell  you,  come  here  !  " 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  113 

Felicien  approached  unwillingly. 

"  Give  }^our  baud  to  my  young  friend  here — he  has  a 
right  to  it." 

"  Has  what  ?  "  asked  Felicien. 

"  Nothing,"  I  hastened  to  reply.  "  M.  Duplay  believes 
that  you  knew  your  foil  to  be  unbuttoned,  but  I  have  told 
him  '  no  ! '     Come  ;  shake  hands,  and  be  friends." 

I  held  out  my  hand. 

Felicien  took  it  with  rather  a  bad  grace. 

"There,"  said  M.  Duplay  ;  "  you  have  said  adieu  !  We 
go  our  way — you  can  go  yours." 

And  he  dismissed  him  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

We  went  our  way. 

"  You  see,  I  was  right  in  coming  out  with  you,"  said 
M.  Duplay.  "  The  little  scoundrel  was  waiting  there  to  pick 
a  quarrel  with  you.  He  would  not  be  a  bad  carpenter  if 
he  would  work,  but  he  thinks  the  trade  beneath  him.  He 
loves,  and  is  jealous  of  Cornelie.  One  can  easily  see  that, 
but  he  is  eighteen  months  younger  than  she.  I  don't  think 
that  Cornelie  is  very  fond  of  hiuT;  but  you  have  given  a 
lesson  to  M.  Veto,  and  you  have  done  well." 

I  did  not  reply,  as  I  agreed  in  every  respect  with 
M.  Duplay. 

As  the  clock  struck  five,  we  arrived  at  the  Rue  Grange 
Bateliere.  We  found  M.  Drouet  punctual.  I  introduced 
M.  Duplay,  whom  he  already  knew  through  my  speaking 
of  him. 

We  spent  the  evening  fraternising  with  the  Parisians. 

We  each  of  us  received  a  medal  in  commemoration  of 
the  occasion. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  drum  beat  the  recall. 
We  formed  ranks,  and  set  out  for  the  Barrier  Pantin. 
Meaux  was  fixed  upon'as  our  first  halting-place. 

Four  days  after  our  departure  from  Paris,  we  arrived  at 
Menehould  about  three  hours  after  mid-day.  We  had,  on 
an  average,  marched  about  twelve  leagues  a  day. 

M.  Drouet  wished  me  to  dine  with  him,  but  I  knew  that 
my  uncle  would  be  uneasy  if  ]  returned  not  with  the 
others ;  and,  somehow  or  other,  T  had  a  presentiment  that  I 
must  hasten,  if  I  wished  to  see  him  alive. 

I  was  a  quick    walker.     I  ran    down    the    slope   of  the 
mountain,  and  traversed  the  village  at  a  quick  trot. 
7 


114  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

On  passing  the  priest's  house,  I  saw  Mademoiselle 
Marguerite  in  the  doorway.  When  she  saw  me,  she  came 
forward. 

I  feared  what  she  was  going  to  ask  ;  so  I  at  once  said, 
"  M.  le  Cure  is  in  capital'  health,  and  will  be  here  in  an 
hour.     What  news  of  my  uncle  ?  " 

"  Good,  my  dear  Rene — good  ;  but  you  have  mentioned 
to  him  your  arrival  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not.     Why  should  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  told  me  that-  you  would  arrive  at  half-past 
seven  this  evening ;  and  he  said,  '  Thank  heaven,  I  shall 
be  able  to  see  and  bless  him  before  I  die  !  " 

"  He  said  that  ?  Well,  I  must  hurry  on,  for  I  have  no 
time  to  lose." 

On  leaving  the  village,  and  turning  the  first  angle  of  the 
forest,  one  could  see  the  cottage  of  Father  Descharmes. 

I  turned  the  corner  in  a  moment. 

Father  Descharmes  was  at  the  door,  seated  in  his  arm- 
chair, in  the  same  place  I  had  left  him,  enjoying  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun. 

I  waved  my  hat  on»the  end  of  my  musket.  I  thought 
that  he  feebly  waved  his  hand  in  return. 

I  ran  quicker  than  ever ;  and  the  nearer  I  came  the  more 
his  face  brightened  up. 

When  I  was  not  more  than  ten  paces  distant,  he  lifted 
himself  from  the  chair,  and,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he 
said  "  I  knew  well  that  I  should  see  my  child  again.  'Now 
let  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace,  according  to  Thy  word.' " 

I  heard  these  words,  and  threw  myself  on  my  knees. 

"  Bless  me,  oh,  my  uncle  !  "  I  cried. 

My  voice  was  choked  with  sobs,  for  I  saw  that  I  had 
arrived  just  in  time  to  receive  his  last  breath. 

I  felt  the  old  man's  hands  placed  upon  my  forehead,  and 
I  fancied  that  I  heard  his  voice  murmuring  feebly  a 
prayer. 

When  the  prayer  was  finished,  he  cried,  "  Oh,  heaven, 
receive  my  spirit !  " 

I  felt  his  hand  slowly  slipping  from  my  brow. 

I  stayed  a  moment  immovable,  and  then,  taking  his 
hands  in  mine,  I  raised  myself  gently,  and  looked  at  him. 

He  had  fallen  backwards,  his  head  resting  on  his  breast, 
and  his  eyes  and  mouth  open. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  115 

But  the  mouth  no  longer  had  breath,  and  the  light  had 
departed  from  the  eyes. 
He  was  dead  ! 


CHAPTEK  XXI. 

I  EXCHANGE  MY  GUN  FOR  THE  PLANE. 

I  will  not  exaggerate  my  grief;  I  will  simply  say  that 
I  loved  my  uncle  as  a  father,  and  my  sorrow  for  his  loss  was 
full  and  sincere. 

In  my  absence,  the  two  keepers — the  one  named  Fiobert, 
and  the  other,  Lafeuille — had  taken  it  in  turns  to  minister 
to  his  little  wants. 

"When  he  died,  Fiobert  was  in  the  house.  1  called,  and 
he  came  to  me. 

The  name  of  Drouet  filled  my  heart,  and  rested  on  my 
lips. 

At  that  moment  a  postchaise  passed,  going  in  the  direc- 
tion of  St.  Menehould.  I  ran  after  the  postilion,  my  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"  Tell  M.  Jean  Baptiste,"  cried  I  to  him,  "  that  my  un- 
cle died  at  the  moment  of  my  arrival." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Poor  Descharmes !  I  spoke  to  him 
yesterday  !  He  was  seated  in  his  easy-chair,  in  the  door- 
way, and  he  told  me  that  he  expected  you  this  evening." 

He  then  drove  on. 

"  You  will  not  forget  to  tell  M.  Drouet,  will  you  ?  "  I  re- 
peated. 

"  Certainly  not.  Do  not  be  afraid,  M.  Kene" ;  I  shall  not 
forget  it." 

I  had  such  confidence  in  M.  Drouet,  that  I  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  ask  him  to  come.  I  had  only  to  tell  him  my 
sorrow,  and  I  knew  that  he  would  come. 

As  I  expected,  two  hours  after,  I  heard  the  gallop  of  a 
horse.     I  rushed  to  the  door,  and  M.  Drouet  was  there. 

He  had  met  M.  Fortin  as  he  was  coming  in  the  same  car- 
riage which  had  taken  him  to  the  Federation.  He  had 
pressed  on  his  steed  ;  he  had  seen  Marguerite  in  passing ; 


116  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

and  in  all  probability  the  good  priest  would  be  there  in  an 
hour,  with  his  housekeeper,  to  say  the  prayers  for  the  dead 
by  the  bedside  of  Father  Descharines. 

M.  Drouet  wished  to  lead  me  away ;  but,  smiling,  in  the 
midst  of  my  tears,  "  What  would  my  poor  uncle  say  of  me 
on  high,"  I  said,  "  if  any  other  hand  than  mine  performed 
the  last  sad  offices  for  the  dead  ?  M 

"  Do  you  feel  yourself  strong  enough  for  it  ? "  asked 
M.  Drouet. 

"  Is  it  not  my  duty  ?  " 

"  Without  doubt.  But  one  cannot  always  do  one's 
duty." 

"I  hope  that  heaven  will  always  give  me  strength 
enough  to  perform  mine." 

"  Breathe  that  prayer  night  and  morning,  and  it  will  be 
of  more  benefit  than  all  the  prayers  printed  in  the  Church 
Service." 

The  burial  was  to  take  place  at  four  o'clock  in  the  Cem- 
etery of  Islettes.  After  it  was  over,  he  proposed  that  I 
should  go  with  him  to  St.  Menehould,  to  pass  the  night, 
and  in  the  following  morning  with  a  notary,  who  would  ar- 
range the  deceased  man's  papers  &c,  &c. 

In  the  afternoon,  at  four  o'clock,  my  uncle's  corpse,  ac- 
companied by  the  whole  village  of  Islettes,  followed  by  me, 
his  sole  relative,  and  by  Drouet,  Billard,  Guillaume,  Mathieu, 
and  Bertrand,  his  friends,  was  placed  in  its  last  resting- 
place,  accompanied  by  the  blessings  of  the  Abbe  Fortin, 
and  all  those  who  knew  his  upright  and  irreproachable  life. 

The  funeral  over,  M.  Drouet  put  the  ke}-  of  the  cottage 
in  his  own  pocket.  Then  we  mounted  into  M.  Drouet's 
cabriolet,  and  drove  off  to  to  St.  Menehould. 

In  the  evening,  M.  Drouet  went  to  seek  the  notary,  who 
promised  to  run  over  the  following  day,  after  breakfast,  to 
open  the  will,  and  make  an  inventory.  On  the  morrow,  at 
mid-day,  in  the  presence  of  MM.  Fortin,  Drouet,  Bertrand, 
and  jNlathieu,  the  will  was  opened. 

It  appointed  me  his  sole  heir,  and  at  the  same  time  indi- 
cated a  cupboard  in  which  would  be  found,  in  a  bag,  two 
hundred  and  sixty  louis  d'or,  which  comprised  his  whole 
fortune. 

It  also  charged  me  to  give  all  the  little  things  he  had 
collected,  and  which  were  of  no  use  to  me,  to  the  poor  of 


LOVE    AND    iflBERTY.  117 

the  village  of  Islettes ;  also  to  give  all  the  implements  of 
the  chase,  with  the  exception  of  those  which  pleased  me,  to 
his  old  friends,  Flobert  and  Lafeuille. 

On  no  account  was  anything  to  be  sold. 

As  1  was  under  age,  M.  Drouet,  b}r  my  uncle's  wish,  be- 
came my  guardian. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  I  immediately  handed  over  to  him 
the  two  hundred  and  sixty  louis  which  my  uncle  had  left 
me,  telling  him  to  keep  them  till  I  came  of  age. 

All  being  thus  arranged,  I  placed  on  a  wheelbarrow, 
which  Bertrand  lent  me,  all  my  carpentry  tools,  my  com- 
passes, my  plane,  and  so  on. 

Two  hours  after,  i  arrived  at  M.  Gerbaut's.  On  my 
entrance,  I  found  the  whole  family  at  supper. 

"  M.  Gerbaut,"  said  I,  "  you  offered  me,  if  at  any  time 
I  desired  to  work  under  a  master,  an  apprenticeship — are 
you  inclined  to  stand  by  your  agreement  ?  " 

"  Thanks,  my  boy,  for  having  thought  first  of  me.  But 
sit  down  and  eat ;  it  will  be  time  enough  to  think  of  work 
to-morrow." 

"  Sit  down  by  my  side,  my  friend,"  said  Sophie,  with  a 
sweet  smile,  holding  out  her  hand. 

She  drew  her  chair  a  little  nearer  to  her  father's,  and  I 
accepted  the  place  thus  offered. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MY   NEW   LIFE   UNDER    SOPHIE'S    FATHER. 

The  changes  made  by  death  excepted,  there  is  this 
strange  and  touching  peculiarity  of  country  life,  that,  whilst 
kingdoms  are  rent,  hedgerows,  and  fields,  and  rustics, 
apparently  remain  ever  the  same. 

Nearly  a  year  had  passed  since  I  last  set  foot  in  Bather 
Gerbaut's  house,  and  on  entering  I  found  everything  the 
same  as  when  I  had  last  left  it ;  the  covers  laid  in  the  same 
places,  on  the  same  table,  and  for  the  same  number  of 
persons.  Not  only  were  material  affairs  the  same,  but  the 
affections  remained  unaltered.     Sophie  had  said,.  "Come, 


f>' 


118  love    Ind    liberty. 

my  brother,"  and  I  came.  She  gave  me  her  hand,  and 
said,  "  Brother,  you  are  welcome  !  " 

And  yet  a  great  agitation  prevailed  over  the  whole  sur- 
face of  France ;  all  the  ancient  names  of  the  provinces  had 
been  changed.  France  «was  divided  into  eighty-three 
departments.  One  part  of  Champagne  had  taken  the 
names  of  the  Department  of  the  Meuse ;  the  part  neigh- 
boring was  now  the  Department  of  the  Marne.  The  little 
River  Biesine,  which  served  as  a  line  of  demarcation 
between  Germany  and  France,  and,  likewise,  between 
Champagne  and  Clermontois,  fixed  the  limit  of  the  two 
departments.  Les  Islettes,  Clermont,  and  Varennes  were 
in  the  Department  of  the  Meuse. 

Municipalities  were  constituted  under  the  name  of  cor- 
porations ;  M.  Gerbaut-  was  nominated  municipal  council- 
lor, and  our  neighbor,  M.  Sauce,  grocer,  procureur  of  the 
corporation. 

I  say  our  neighbor,  because  the  two  houses  were  separated 
only  by  a  lane. 

The  two  families  frequently  visited  each  other.  M.  Ger- 
baut and  M.  Sauce,  with  their  blushing  honors  thick  upon 
them,  were  patriots. 

Madame  Sauce  was  a  fine  woman,  but  coarse  and  vulgar, 
a  veritable  dealer  in  candles,  butter,  and  sugar ;  rather 
given  to  serving  short  measure,  but  otherwise  incapable  of 
committing  a  fraud.  The  mother  of  M.  Sauce,  an  old  lady 
of  sixty-three  or  sixty -four  years,  was  a  Royalist.  The 
children,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  only  twelve,  were  incapa- 
ble of  having  an  opinion. 

We  shall  see  presently  what  Sophie's  opinions  were. 

Opposite  us  was  the  tavern  of  the  "  Bras  d'Or,"  belong- 
ing to  the  brothers  Leblanc.  Interest  made  them  plajr  a 
little  comedy.  As  they  had  the  patronage  both  of  the 
pati-iotic  young  men  in  the  town,  and  the  Royalist  young 
nobles  from  the  vicinity,  the  one  brother  was  a  patriot,  and 
the  other  a  Royalist.  The  elder  cried  "  Vive  la  nation  " 
with  the  young  tradesmen,  while  the  younger  shouted 
"  Vive  le  Roi  "  with  the  noblesse. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this,  a  national  decree  was  propagated, 
which  caused  some  uneasiness  in  the  province. 

"  It  was  the  civil  constitution  of  the  clergy. 

It  created  an  episcopal  chair  in  each  department. 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  119 

It  ordered  the  election  of  bishops  and  priests  to  be  con- 
ducted alter  the  fashion  of  the  primitive  church  :  that  is  to 
say,  that  they  were  to  be  elected  by  a  majority  of  votes  ;  all 
the  salaries  of  the  clergy  were  to  be  paid  from  the  King's 
treasury  ;  perquisites  were  abolished. 

The  clergy  were  desired  to  take  an  oath  to  maintain  that 
•constitution  ;  those  who  would  not,  were  compelled  to  resign 
their  benefices  in  favor  of  those  who  would. 

If,  after  being  dismissed,  they  attempted  to  renew  their 
functions,  they  were  prosecuted  as  disturbers  of  the  public 
peace. 

From  this  arose  the  troubles  in  the  Church,  and  the 
division  between  the  constitutional  priests  and  those  who 
refused  to  take  the  oath. 

If  one  looks  back  on  that  great  epoch,  and  on  the  two 
remarkable  years  of  '89  and  '90,  one  cannot  fail  to  be 
astonished.  Can  any  one  explain  the  precautions  taken  by 
nature,  that  the  men  and  the  events  should  arrive  at  the 
same  time  for  that  awful  result  which  followed? 

In  1762,  M.  de  Choiseul  suppressed  the  order  of  the 
Jesuits  ;  that  is  to  say,  deprived  the  Church  of  its  wisest 
and  most  powerful  supporters. 

Afterwards,  in  the  years  '68,  '69,  and  70,  the  Revolution 
produced  Chateaubriand,  Bonaparte,  Hoch,  Marceau,  Jou- 
bert,  Cuvier,  Saint  Martin,  Saint  Simon,  Lesneur,  Les 
Cheniers,  Geoffrey  Saint  Hilaire,  Bichat,  Lainancourt,  all 
of  whom,  in  1792,  where  in  the  bloom  of  life  and  genius. 

Whence  came  those  births  sublime  and  terrible,  pro- 
duced in  the  space  of  three  or  four  years  ?  Whence  came 
that  burst  of  genius  prepared  twenty-four  or  twenty-five 
years  before  to  second  political  eruption  ?  Whence  came 
that  body  of  superior  men  who  closed  the  eighteenth  and 
opened  the  nineteenth  century  ?  Whence  came  that  pha- 
lanx more  than  human,  and  who  raised  the  hand  to 
swear  to  the  constitution   before  the  altar  of  their  country  ? 

Let  us  forget  the  death  of  Mirabeau,  the  last  upholder  of 
the  monarchy,  whom  heaven  struck  in  an  unexpected  man- 
ner, at  the  moment  he  forsook  the  cause  of  the  people  ;  and 
who,  in  dying,  counselled  the  flight  of  the  king — a  flight 
which,  had  it  succeeded,  would  have  saved  the  life  of  his 
Majesty  ;  but  successful  or  unsuccessful,  must  inevitably 
have  brought  the  monarchy  U>  the  ground* 


120  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

All  knew  not  the  cause  of  that  reason  or  corruption  on 
the  part  of  Mirabeau  ;  whether  it  was  that  his  aristocratic 
instincts,  kept  under  for  a  time  by  his  father's  severity,  had 
sprung  into  light  on  contact  with  royalty,  or  not,  seemed 
to  be  doubtful. 

The  Queen  was  a  great  enchantress.  She  was  a  Circe, 
fatal  to  those  who  stopped  not  their  ears,  to  avoid  listening 
to  the  blandishments  of  her  sweet  voice.  She  had  the  fatal 
gift,  which  Mary  Stuart  possessed,  of  leading  all  her  friends 
to  death. 

The  end  of  Mirabeau  was  announced  in  the  provinces 
almost  at  the  same  time  as  his  illness,        . 

It  was  on  the  20th  of  March  that  the  news  of  his  illness 
was  bruited  about  in  Paris.  It  appeared  that  on  the  27th, 
two  days  previous,  being  at  his  house  at  Argenteuil,  he  was 
seized  with  a  violent  cholic,  accompanied  with  almost  unen- 
durable agony.  He  sent  for  his  friend  and  physician, 
the  famous  Cabanis,  and  distinctly  refused  to  see  any 
other.  This  was  wrong,  perhaps  ;  a  hospital  surgeon  or  a 
practised  physician  might  have  saved  him. 

As  soon  as  the  news  was  received,  the  crowd  pressed  to 
the  door  of  the  sick  man's  house. 

Barnave,  his  enemy,  almost  his  rival,  who  would  have 
died,  slain  by  the  Queen,  for  an  interview  like  that  which 
Mirabeau  had  had  with  her,  came  to  see  him  conducting  a 
deputation  of  Jacobins. 

The  priest  came,  and  would  not  be  denied.  This  was 
exactly  what  Mirabeau  feared — the  influence  of  priests  upon 
his  dying  volition. 

They  refused  admission  to  the  sick  man's  chamber,  saying 
that  Mirabeau  wished  only  to  see  his  friend  M.  Talleyrand, 
to  whom,  he  said,  he  could  confess,  without  any  great  fear 
of  virtuous  indignation. 

For  some  months  he  had  been  suffering,  he  believed,  from 
the  effects  of  poison.  Administered  by  whom?  He  would 
have  been  puzzled  to  tell  that  himself.  All  the  world,  ex- 
cept the  parties  interested,  knew  about  his  interview  with 
the  Queen  at  St.  Cloud,  in  the  mouth  of  May,  1790. 
Whether  his  malady  was  natural,  or  the  effects  of  a  crime, 
he  took  no  measures  whatever  to  arrest  its  progress. 

Vigorous  of  body,  perhaps  more  vigorous  in  imagination, 
he  had  passed  the  night  of  the  loth  of  March  in  an  orgie, 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  121 

component    par*?  of  whi'h    were    women    and  flo- 
gs i      '  lie  loved.     He  used  m 
gratify  his  tastes  in  th   •  -ts. 

:he  morning  of  1       2  April,  after  a  nig] 

•  I  carry  with 
me  the  mourning  of  monarchy  ;  Bwill  be  the  ■ 

of  factions/' — awakened  from  the  bosom  of  grief,  if  one  can 
lie  term,  by  a  cannon  shot,  he  cried. 
He  summoned  his  valet,  was  shaved,  washed,  and  per- 
fumed all  over  his  body.  -  last  toilette  was 
pleted,  opening  his  window  to  admit  the  young  April  sun, 
which  was  brightening  the  first  blossoms  on  the  trees,  he 
murmured,  smiling,  ••  Oh,  sun,  if  thou  art  not  God  himself, 
thou  art  his  cousin  german  ! " 

is  last  insupportable  suffering  seized  him. 
He  could  not  speak,  but  snatched  a  pen,  and  wrote  plainly 
the  one  word  Dqrmir — •   S 

Did  he  ask  for  death,  like  Hamlet,  or  only  for  opium  to 
soothe  his  passage  from  one  world  into  the  other? 

At  about  half-past  eight,  he  moved,  lifted  his    eyes    to 
heaven,  and  heaved  a  sigh.     It  was  his  last  ! 

In  the  evening,  the  theatres  were  closed,  as  if  some  . 
national  calamity  had  occurred. 

The  mask  was  taken  from  that  immobile  face  :  from  that 
powerful  head  which  Camille  Desmoulins  called  a  magazine 
of  ideas  exploded  I y  death.     His  placid  br   w  ex]  : —  I  rhe 
serenity  of  his  soul,  and  bis  nice  Lure  no   trace  of  either 
■   or  remorse, 
i      re  is  no  doul  tl     I  tl    I    '  i     .beau,  when  he  promised 
the    Queen    all   his    supp  :~.   f  I ly    intended  to  keep  that 
-  .  not  only  as  a  gentleman  but  as  a  citizen. 
The  funeral  ceremony  I  a  on  the  -4th  of  April ; 

four  hundred  thousand  persons  followed  in  the  procession. 
Two  instruments  were  heard  for  the  first  time  on  that 
occasion,  filling  the  breasts  of  the  spectators  with  their  vi- 
brating notes  :  they  were  the  trombone,  and  the  tom-tom. 

At  eight  in  the  evening,  he  was  placed  in  the  temporary 
tomb  provided  for  him  in  the  Pantheon. 

V\  ••  say  temporary,  because  his  body  remained  there  only 
three  years. 

It  was  removed  at  the  time  when  the  Convention,  having 
slain  the  Jacobins,  and  slain  iving  no  mure  living  to 

slay,  determined  to  dishonor  the  dead. 


122  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

It  was  ordered  that  the  corpse  of  Honore  Eiquette  de 
Mirabeau,  traitor  to  the  people,  traitor  to  his  country,  and 
sold  to  royalty,  should  be  removed  from  the  Pantheon. 

The  order  was  executed,  and  the  corpse  of  Mirabeau  was 
thrown  into  the  criminals'  cemetery,  at  Clamart. 

It  is  there  that  he  now  sleeps  the  sleep  of  hope,  waiting 
the  day  when  France,  an  indulgent — nay,  let  us  rather  say 
an  impartial  mother,  will  give  him,  not  a  Pantheon,  but  a 
tomb  ;  not  a  temple,  but  a  mausoleum. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   ARRIVAL    OF   THE   DRAGOONS. 

During  the  ten  months  that  I  stayed  with  M.  Gerbaut, 
my  life  was  monotonous  in  the  extreme. 

As  I  was  an  excellent  workman,  he  gave  me,  as  well  as 
board  and  lodging,  a  salary  of  thirty  francs  a  month,  and 
often  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  wished  that  I  were  a 
few  years  older,  that  he  might  give  me  his  daughter  in 
marriage,  and  surrender  to  me  his  business.  But  the  fact 
was,  I  was  a  year  younger  than  Sophie. 

But  it  was  not  that  only  which  rendered  a  union  impossi- 
ble between  us  ;  it  was  that  invincible  sorrow,  denoting  a 
passion  hidden  in  the  depths  of  her  heart. 

My  opinion  was,  that  the  young  man  for  whom  she 
entertained  this  hidden  feeling  was  the  Viscount  de  Malmy. 

Sophie  gave  me  all  that  she  had  promised — sisterly  love. 

It  was  impossible  to  be  kinder  or  more  affectionate  to 
me  than  she  was.  On  Sunday,  I  invariably  took  her  out 
for  a  walk,  and  she  never  would  accept  any  other  arm  than 
mine  ;  but  this  friendship  did  not  induce  her  to  confide  to 
me  the  cause  of  the  sorrow  which  I  could  plainly  see  was 
preying  tipon  her  constitution. 

Sometimes  the  young  nobles  came,  and,  as  I  have  told 
you,  put  up  at  the  Brothers  Leblanc. 

On  those  days,  Sophie  always  found  a  pretext  for  not 
going  out  with  me,  taking  care  that  the  pretext  was  plaus- 
ible. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  123 

She  shut  herself  up  in  her  chamber,  the  window  of 
which  was  exactly  opposite  the  window  of  the  "  Bras  d'Or," 
and  stayed  there  the  whole  time  that  the  young  nobles 
were  at  Varennes. 

More  than  once,  under  these  circumstances,  I  had  half  a 
mind  to  get  up  in  the  night,  and  see  if  the  darkness  hid 
any  mystery  with  regard  to  Sophie  and  the  Viscount,  but 
I  always  had  strength  enough  to  resist  the  -temptation.  I 
thought  to  myself  I  had  no  right  to  surprise  any  of  her 
secrets,  which,  notwithstanding  our  friendship,  she  had  not 
thought  fit  to  confide  in  me. 

One  night,  whilst  passing  along  the  corridor,  I  fancied  I 
heard  two  voices  in  Sophie's  room  ;  but  instead  of  stopping 
to  listen,  I  felt  ashamed  of  the  action  which  jealousy 
prompted  me  to  commit,  and  I  determined,  notwithstand- 
ing the  pangs  I  suffered,  that  Sophie  should  have  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  I  suspected  anything. 

My  grief,  undoubtedly,  was  great ;  but  my  pity  for  her 
was  greater,  and  I  felt  that  strong  as  my  anguish  was,  she 
was  preparing  for  herself  an  after  day  of  sorrow  and  re- 
morse. 

From  the  1st  to  the  15th  of  June,  the  visits  of  M.  Malmy 
and  M.  Dampierre  were  more  frequent  than  usual. 

An  instinctive  hatred  made  me  keep  aloof  from  M.  de 
Malmy  ;  but  the  Count,  in  memory  of  Father  Descharmes, 
never  met  me  without  speaking. 

But,  for  the  most  part,  the}'  did  not  come  as  far  as  the  Hue 
de  la  Basse  Cour.  M.  de  Malmy  alone,  and  his  friend  the 
Viscount  de  Courtemont,  went  to  the  "Bras  d'Or;"  the 
Count  de  Haus  stayed  on  the  top  of  the  Hill  des  Beligieuses 
with  one  of  his  friends,  an  old  Chevalier  of  St.  Louis,  named 
the  Baron  de  Prefontaine. 

On  the  2oth  of  June,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
M.  Jean  Baptiste  arrived. 

In  the  course  of  the  ten  months  since  I  had  last  been  at 
Varennes,  he  had  paid  two  or  three  visits  to  his  friends  Bil- 
laud  and  Gillaume,  and  had  never  failed  to  come  and  see 
me,  and  to  invite  me  to  take  breakfast  with  him,  as  the  case 
might  be. 

This  time  he  had  a  more  mysterious  air  than  usual ;  he 
engaged  a  private  room  at  the  Brothers  Leblanc,  ordered 
dinner  for  four,  and  asked  his  two  friends  to  come  and  join 
us  immediately  at  the  "  Bras  d'Or." 


124  LOVE     AND    LLBEliTY. 

For  some  time  the  horizon  had  heen  lowering. 

It  was  evident  that  there  was  some  counterplot  hatching. 

On  the  1st  of  March  we  had  heard  of  the  affair  of  the 
Gentlemen  of  the  Dagger. 

On  the  20th  of  April,  we  had  heard  that  the  King,  in- 
tending to  go  to  St.  Cloud,  had  been  stopped  by  the  people, 
and  was  afraid  to  leave  the  Tuileries. 

We  knew,  vaguely,  what  was  going  on  in  Italy.  The 
Count  D'Artpis  was  at  Mantua  with  the  Emperor  Leopold, 
asking  for  an  invasion  of  France.  The  King  did  not  ask 
that  invasion  ;  but  D'Artois  knew  well  that  he  would  be 
glad  of  it.  A  year  before,  everybody  saw,  from  the  letter 
from  the  Count  de  Frovence  to  M.  de  Favras,  how  little 
place  the  King  held  in  the  calculations  of  his  brothers. 

The  young  King  of  Sweden,  Gustavus,  after  having  been 
the  enemy  of  Catharine,  conquered  by  her,  became  her 
friend,  and  at  the  same  time  her  agent,  and  was  at  Aix,  in 
Savoy;  publicly  offering  his  sword  to  fhe  King;  while  the 
Count  de  Fersen,  an  intimate  of  the  Queen's,  was  carrying 
on  a  correspondence  with  M.  de  Bouille. 

Feople  said  that  for  the  last  three  months  the  Queen  had 
caused  to  be  made  a  trousseau  for  herself  and  children. 

They  said,  likewise,  that  she  had  caused  to  be  made  a 
magnificent  travelling  outfit,  sufficient  for  at  least  an  ab- 
sence of  six  months. 

Her  friend,  M  de  Fersen,  they  said,  was  superintending 
the  construction  of  an  English  chaise,  capable  of  holding 
from  cell  to  twelve  persons. 

All  these  rumors  tended  to  one  end,  and  caused  the  two 
last  appearances  of  M.  Drouet  at  Varennes. 

His  post-house  was  situated  on  one  of  the  short  cuts  to 
the  frontier  ;  and  by  the  road  many  nobles  had  emigrated, 
as  if  to  point  out  the  proper  route  for  the  King. 

A  new  event  had  taken  place,  which  had  appeared  to 
M.  Drouet  of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant  a  consulta- 
tion with  his  friends. 

This  was  the  event  I  speak  of. 

On  the  20th  of  June,  in  the  morning,  a  detachment  of 
hussars,  with  brown  dolmans  (some  said  that  they  were  a 
part  of  De  Lauzun's  regiment,  others  that  they  were  a  part 
of  Esterhazy's),  had  entered  St.  Menehould  by  the  Cler- 
mont road. 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  125 

At  that  time,  when  the  troops  were  billeted  on  the 
tradespeople,  the  authorities  were  generally  informed  of 
their  arrival  two  or  three  days  in  advance. 

In  this  case,  the  authorities  had  received  no  advice. 

M.  Drouet  had  spoken  to  the  officer  commanding  the 
detachment.  This  officer,  whom  he  remembered  to  have 
seen  two  months  before  passing  between  St.  Menehould, 
Chalons,  and  Varennes,  was  called  M.  Goguelet. 

Recognised  by  M.  Drouet,  this  officer  had  no  hesitation 
in  chatting  with  him.  He  said  he  had  been  sent  with  his 
forty  men  to  form  an  escort  for  a  treasure. 

While  M.  Jean  Baptiste  was  talking  with  him,  a  messen- 
ger arrived  from  the  municipality,  asking  the  reason  of  his 
coming  unannounced  and  unexpected. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  nothing,"  replied  the 
officer ;  "  myself  and  my  men  will  sleep  here  ;  but  as  we 
set  off  in  a  hurry  on  a  particular  service,  we  are  utterljT 
without  rations.  We  will  pay  all  our  expenses,  so  as  not 
to  be  a  burden  on  the  tradespeople.  To-morrow,  at  day- 
break, we  start  for  Pont-de-Somme-Yesles." 

The  messenger  took  this  response  to  the  authorities  ;  but 
they,  not  being  satisfied  with  it,  sent  him  back  with  a 
request  that  M.  Gcgulet  would  step  up  to  the  Mayor's 
house. 

He  accordingly  went  there,  M.  Drouet  following. 

AN  hen  a^ked  the  reason  of  his  march,  the  officer  exhib- 
ited an  order  from  M.  de  Bouille,  commanding  him  to  be  at 
Pont-de-Somme-Yesles  on  the  21st  of  June,  to  take  charge 
of,  and  escort  some  treasure  which  was  there,  to  St.  Mene- 
hould, where  he  was  to  surrender  his  trust  to  Colonel  Dan- 
doin,  of  the  First  Regiment  of  Dragoons. 

They  then  asked  where  were  M.  Dandoin's  dragoons. 

"  He  follows  me,"  he  replied ;  and  will  arrive  here  to- 
morrow morning." 

The  interrogatory  was  not  pushed  any  farther;  but 
M.  Drouet  was  not  satisfied,  so  he  had  run  over  to  Varen- 
nes, to  inform  his  companions  of  the  event,  and  to  hold  a 
consultation  with  them. 

Just  as  he  had  finished  his  tale,  the  younger  brother 
Leblanc  entered. 

He  had  come  from  Stenay. 

"Do  you  wish  to  see  some  beautiful  horses,  M.  Jean 
Baptiste  ?  "  asked  he. 


126  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  replied  Drouet,  "  espe- 
cially if  they  are  for  sale,  as  I  want  a  remount." 

"  I  don't  think  that  they  are  for  sale  ;  but  what  is  aston- 
ishing is  that  they  are  harnessed  in  relays." 

"  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  At  the  '  Grand  Monarque,'  with  Father  Gautier." 

M.  Jean  Baptiste  looked  at  us. 

"  It  is  well,  Victor,"  he  said  ;  "  I  will  go  there  after  din- 
ner.    Have  you  any  other  news  ?  " 

"  No  ;  there  is  a  movement  going  on  among  the  troops  at 
Stenay,  hut  there  is  nothing  astonishing  in  that.  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  we  received  an  announcement  of  their 
arrival  here  to-morrow." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Drouet. 

We  finished  dinner,  and  entered  into  the  Rue  de  la  Basse 
Cour,  crossed  the  bridge,  and  arrived  at  the  "  Grand  Mon- 
arque," where  we  found  six  horses  being  carefully  attended 
to  by  the  two  grooms. 

"  Those  are  fine  horses.     Whose  are  they,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  My  master's  !  "  insolently  replied  one  of  the  grooms. 

"  The  name  of  your  master  is  a  secret,  I  suppose  ? " 
queried  M.  Drouet. 

"  That  depends  upon  who  asks  me." 

M.  Guillaume  frowned. 

"  This  is  an  insolent  scoundrel,"  said  he,  "  who  merits 
being  taught  how  lackeys  should  speak  to  men?  " 

"  Will  you  teach  me  ?  "  asked  the  groom. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Guillaume,  going  a  step  nearer  to 
him. 

M.  Jean  Baptiste  stopped  him  by  taking  hold  of  his  arm. 

"My  dear  Guillaume,"  said  he,  "don't  put  yourself  out; 
perhaps  this  good  man  is  forbidden  to  speak,  and  has'come 
like  M.  Goguelet,  for  the  treasure." 

"  Do  you  know  M.  Goguelet,  and  why  we  are  here  ?  " 

"  You  are  here  for  the  treasure  which  the  hussars  are 
bringing  from  Pont-de-Somme-Vesles,  to  hand  over  to  the 
dragoons  who  were  awaiting  them  at  St.  Menehould." 

"  If  you  are  one  of  us,  monsieur,"  said  the  groom,  touch- 
ing his  hat,  "  I  have  no  reason  to  refuse  telling  you  to  whom 
the  horses  belong.  They  are  the  property  of  the  Duke  of 
Choiseul." 

"  You  have  said  well,"  said  Drouet,  laughing  ;  "  and  we 
were  going  to  quarrel  with  one  of  our  friends." 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  127 

"  If  you  are  a  friend,  monsieur,  you  might  tell  me  whom 
you  are,  as  I  have  told  you  about  the  horses  ?  " 

"  You  are  right.  I  have  no  motive  for  concealing  my 
name.  I  am  Jean  Baptiste  Drouet,  postmaster  at  St.  Mene- 
hould." 

"  As  you  have  said,  you  are  probably  one  of  us." 

At  this  moment,  Father  Gautier  stepped  out  from  the 
kitchen  door. 

M.  Drouet  thought  he  had  better  say  no  more  to  the 
groom,  for  fear  of  exciting  suspicion. 

"Ah,  ha!  Father  Gautier,"  said  he;  "your  kitchen 
appears  to  be  in  full  blow." 

The  fires  in  fact,  were  at  their  highest. 

"It  is  so,  M.  Drouet;  but  the  astonishing  part  of  it  is, 
that  I  do  not  know  for  whom  the  cooking  is  going  on." 

"  You  don't  know  for  whom  ?  " 

"No.  I  received  on  the  14th,  an  order  from  the  military 
commandant  to  prepare'  a  dinner  for  five  o'clock,  and  it  is 
now  the  24th,  and  no  one  has  arrived  to  eat  it ;  but  as  it  is 
a  written  command,  I  am  not  afraid,  for  eaten  or  not,  the 
dinners  are  always  paid  for." 

M.  Drouet  again  looked  at  us. 

"Perhaps  they  are  some  great  lords  about  to  emigrate," 
said  M.  Jean  Baptiste. 

"  And  who  take  away  our  money,"  replied  Father  Gau- 
tier. 

"  In  any  case,  they  will  leave  you  a  little  of  theirs.  Six 
or  eight  dinners,  at  how  much  a  head?" 

"  Three  crowns,  not  including  the  wine." 

"And  for  how  many  people  ?  " 

"  Eight  or  ten  ;  the  number  was  not  definitely  arranged." 

"  Father  Gautier,"  said  M.  Drouet,  "  you  will  yet  die 
rich." 

He  then  shook  hands  with  him,  smiling. 

We  left  the  house,  and  soon  found  ourselves  in  the  street. 

"  My  friend,"  said  M.  Drouet,  "  without  doubt,  something 
extraordinary  is  about  to  take  place.  I  shall  return  to 
Saint  Menehonld  without  losing  a  moment.  Guillaume 
will  go  with  me.  When  you  get  home,  watch  day  and 
night.  Sleep  with  one  eye  open,  and  hold  yourselves  in 
readiness  for  whatever  may  happen." 

We  returned  quickly  to  the  "  Bras  d'Or ; "  M.  Drouet 


128  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

saddled  his  horse  with  his  own  hands.  M.  Guillaume  bor- 
rowed  one  of  the  elder  of  the  Leblancs,  and  they  both  set 
off  for  St.  Menehould  at  a  sharp  trot,  recommending  us 
both  to  keep  our  eyes  and  ears  well  open. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   NIGHT    OF   THE   21ST    OF   AUGUST,    1791. 

One  can  easily  understand  that  it  was  late  when  we 
sought  our  respective  couches,  and  that  we  rose  early  the 
next  morning,  having  kept  one  eye  open  all  the  time  that 
we  slept. 

When  I  say  we,  of  course  I  speak  of  M.  Billaud  and  the 
elder  Leblanc,  whom  M.  Drouet  had  taken  into  his  confi- 
dence. 

About  eleven  in  the  morning  we  heard  that  a  detachment 
of  hussars  had  been  seen  on  the  road  from  Stenay. 

I  left  my  work,  giving  a  few  words  of  explanation  to 
M.  Gerbaut  and  Mdlle.  Sophie.  They  partook  of  the  gen- 
eral agitation  which  pervaded  the  town,  or  rather  the  air 
which  seemed  tremendous  with  coming  events. 

Mdlle.  Sophie  was  very  much  excited,  especially  when  I 
announced  the  approach  of  the  hussars.  Two  days  previ- 
ously, MM.  Malmy  and  Courtemont  had  arrived  at  Varen- 
nes. 

I  crossed  the  bridge  and  entered  the  Grand  Place  on  one 
side,  at  the  same  moment  as  the  hussars  entered  it  at  the 
other. 

They  stopped  a  moment  on  the  Place,  spoke  to  the  groom, 
who  had  arrived  the  evening  before  with  the  relays,  which, 
by  superior  orders,  they  had  stabled  in  the  old  Convent  of 
the  Cordeliers. 

They  were  commanded  by  a  tall  officer  of  effeminate 
appearance,  and  blonde  complexion.  He  spoke  French  with 
a  very  strong  German  accent.  His  name  was  M.  de  Rok- 
rey. 

He  put  up  in  the  Place,  not  at  an  hotel,  but  with  a 
tradesman  of  the  town,  to  whom  he  bore  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  129 

Behind  me  a  great  number  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
High  Town  were  descending  and  forming  themselves  in 
groups  with  those  of  the  Low  Town. 

About  one  o'clock,  two  young  officers  arrived  by  the 
same  route,  and  stopped  to  speak  with  him  who  commanded 
the  detachment. 

One  of  them  approached  me,  and  asked  if  I  knew  the 
whearabouts  of  Neuvilly. 

I  told  him  it  was  half-way  between  Clermont  and 
Varennes,  and  pointed  out  the  direction  to  take. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  sir,"  said  he,  "  the  cause  of  the  agita- 
tion of  the  people  ?  " 

"  The  movements  of  the  troops  about  the  city  for  the 
last  two  days.  It  is  reported  that  they  are -to  form  a  con- 
voy for  a  treasure,  and  the  inhabitants  are  curious." 

The  two  officers  looked  at  each  other. 

"Can  one  get  to  Neuvilly,"  asked  one  of  the  two,  "  with- 
out passing  through  the  town  ?  " 

"Impossible!"  replied  I.  "A  canal  of  great  width  in- 
tersects the  road  ;  and  even  if  your  horses  could  swim 
across  they  would  not  be  able  to  mount  the  opposite  bank." 

The  officer  turned  round  to  his  friend. 

"What  will  you  do?  It  appears  that  the  relays  must 
pass  through  the  town." 

"We  have  plenty  of  time,"  replied  his  friend;  "the 
courier  will  precede  the  carriage  two  hours." 

The  two  officers  thanked  me  for  my  information,  and  pro- 
ceded  to  the  "  Hotel  du  Grand  Monarque,"  in  the  court  of 
which  they  dismounted,  having  thrown  the  bridles  of  their 
horses  to  the  stable  boys  in  attendance. 

It  was  evident  that  the  persons  expected  would  arrive 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  city — that  is  to  say,  the  side 
on  which  Paris  lies. 

It  was,  therefore,  but  lost  time  to  stay  in  the  Low  Town. 

I  walked  up  to  the  High  Town,  crossed  the  bridge,  and 
returned  to  M.  Gerbaut's  just  as  they  were  sitting  down  to 
dinner.  Notwithstanding  the  stifling  heat,  the  Place  de 
Latra}'  was  crowded. 

During  dinner,  Father  Gerbaut  lost  himself  in  vain  con- 
jectures as  to  what  was  going  on.     Sophie,  on  the  contrary, 
said  not  a  word,  scarcely  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  plate,  and 
ate  little' or  nothing. 
8 


130  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

Not  being  authorized  by  M.  Drouet  to  tell  what  I  knew, 
I  also  held  my  peace. 

In  the  mean  time,  in  order  that  the  reader  maj'  fully  un- 
derstand what  was  about  to  take  place,  it  is  necessary  for 
me  to  describe  the  scene  of  action. 

Varennes,  as  I  before  told  you,  is  divided  into  two  parts, 
the  High  Town  and  the  Low  Town.  The  High  Town  was 
called  the  Chateau. 

On  coming  from  Clermont,  you  enter  Varennes  1>jt  a 
straight  road,  which,  for  more  than  two  leagues,  has  not  a 
single  curve  in  it,  with  the  exception  of  where  it  enters 
Neuvilly. 

All  of  a  sudden  as  you  approach  those  scattered  houses 
which  always  foretell  a  city,  the  road  takes  a  sudden  turn 
to  the  right,  and  falls,  as  it  were,  into  the  midst  of  the  city 
by  the  Rue  des  Religieuses. 

This  descent  ends  at  the  Place  de  Latry. 

That  Place  is,  or  rather  was  at  the  time  of  which  I  am 
writing,  entirely  blocked  for  two  thirds  of  its  length  by  the 
Church  of  St.  Gengoulf,  the  side-  of  which  touched  the 
right  side  of  the  Place  (I  speak  of  the  right  side  with  ref- 
erence to  Paris),  and  the  facades  of  which  overlooked  a 
cemetery,  which,  stretching  from  the  side  of  the  Rue  de 
l'Horloge,  left  a  passage  of  about  thirty  yards  open  to  the 
sky. 

Another  passage,  intended  for  carriages,  was  formed^  but 
on  account  of  an  arch  stretching  over  it,  it  was  impossible 
for  vehicles  loaded  too  high  to  pass  underneath. 

Emerging  from  under  that  arch,  one  stood  facing,  five  or 
six  paces  off,  the  Rue  de  la  Basse  Cour.  On  entering,  you 
could  see  on  the  right  of  him  the  "  Hotel  du  Bras  d'Or." 

A  little  further  on  to  the  left  stood  the  house  of 
M.  Sauce,  Procureur  de  la  Commune. 

I  have  already  said  that  his  house  was  only  separated 
from  M.  Gerbaut's  by  a  passage. 

The  Rue  de  la  Basse  Cour  descends  rapidly  to  a  little 
Place,  where  it  joins  the  Rue  Neuve  and  the  Rue  St.  John. 

A  little  running  stream  of  rather  deep  but  clear  water, 
over  a  pebbby  bottom,  intersects  the  Place.  A  bridge,  nar- 
rower than  the  one  you  would  find  there  to-day,  joins  the 
two  parts  of  the  town — that  is  to  say,  the  High  and  Low 
Town.  The  bridge  crossed,  and  the  corner  of  the  "  Grand 
Monarque  "  rounded,  you  find  yourself  in  the  Grand  Place. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  131 

It  was  on  that  Place  that  the  hussars  were  stationed 
hefore  they  took  up  their  lodgings  in  the  old  Convent  of 
the  Cordeliers,  and  it  was  at  the  "  Grand  Monarque," 
which  bore  the  effigy  of  Louis  XVI,  that  the  relays  stop- 
ped;  also  the  two  officers,  whom  I  have  since  discovered 
were  M.  de  Bouille,  the  younger,  and  M.  de  Raigecourt ; 
and  where,  for  eight  days,  they  had  prepared  dinner  for  an 
imaginary  traveller  who  was  always  expected,  and  who 
never  came. 

This  being  all  explained,  the  reader  will  be  able  the 
better  to  understand  the  various  scenes  of  the  drama,  which 
will,  in  due  time,  be  laid  before  him. 

Tired  of  seeing  nothing  fresh,  though  the  day  had  been 
passed  in  excitement,  at  the  moment  the  clock  struck  eight 
I  quitted  the  house  of  M.  Gerbaut.  My  intention  was  to 
walk  along  the  road  leading  to  Neuvilly,  and  if  I  saw 
nothing,  to  return  home,  go  to  bed,  and  patiently  await  the 
morrow. 

Many  houses  had  their  windows  open,  and  were  lighted 
up. 

The  "  Hotel  du  Bras  d  Or  "  was  one  of  these. 

Some  young  townsmen  were  playing  at  billiards  on  the 
first  floor.  They  were  MM.  Coquilard,  Justin,  Georges, 
and  Soucin.  Two  travellers  staying  at  the  hotel  by  chance 
were  playing  with  them.  These  were  M.  Thevenin,  of 
Islettes,  and  M.  Delion,  of  Montfaucon. 

I  passed  under  the  arch,  and  entered  the  Place ;  two  or 
three  houses  alone  were  lighted  up. 

The  crowd  had  dispersed  ;  not  a  light  was  burning  in  the 
Rue  des  Eeligieuses,  with  the  exception  of  two  lanterns, 
which  only  made  the  darkness  in  the  street  visible. 

I  walked  up  the  street,  and  stopped  on  the  summit, 
whence  I  could  see  the  whole  town. 

All  seemed  to  sleep.  The  Low  Town  betrayed,  especially 
on  the  Place,  no  more  life. 

I  saw  torches  waving  in  the  direction  of  the  "  Grand 
Monarque." 

I  was  occupied  in  watching  them,  when  I  fancied  that  I 
heard  the  gallop  of  a  horse. 

I  laid  myself  down  with  my  ear  to  the  ground. 

The  noise  was  now  more  distinct,  on  account,  no  doubt, 
of  the  horse  having  passed  from  the  earth  on  to  the  stones. 


132  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

I  jumped  up,  convinced  that  a  horseman  was  approach- 
ing. 

And  not  only  that,  I  fancied  that  I  heard  in  the  distance 
the  rumble  of  the  wheels  of  a  carriage. 

Tbe  event  expected  all  day,  and  watched  for  by  night, 
was  about  to  happen. 

I  hid  myself  in  the  angle  of  the  wall. 

The  gallop  approached  rapidly. 

Presently  I  distinguished,  in  the  midst  of  the  road,  a 
horseman. 

When  the  straggling  houses  came  in  view,  the  horseman 
stopped  indecisively. 

It  was  evident  that  he  knew  not  whether  to  stop  or  con- 
tinue his  route. 

For  the  moment,  I  thought  of  showing  myself,  and  offer- 
ing to  guide  them ;  but,  on  second  thoughts,  I  considered 
it  the  least  likely  mode  by  which  to  gain  information. 

I  therefore  stayed  where  I  was,  doubly  hidden  by  the 
night  and  the  wall. 

The  horseman  dismounted,  passed  the  bridle  of  his 
horse  over  his  arm,  and  walked  on  a  few  paces,  knocking  at 
the  doors  of  the  different  houses  to  see  if  thejr  would  open. 

At  last  be  knocked  at  No.  4.     That  opened. 

It  was  the  property  of  a  small  householder,  called  Jour- 
dan. 

"  "Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want  ?"  asked  a  voice. 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,"  returned  the  courier  :  "  but  is  this 
Varennes  ?  " 

''Did  you  wake  me  up  to  ask  me  such  a  question  as  that  ? 
You  are  laughing  at  me  !  " 

"Excuse  me,  monsieur,  but  I  am  a  stranger  here,  and 
wish  to  know  if  I  have  really  arrived  at  Varennes." 

"  You  have,  monsieur.  If  you  have  come  for  beds,  find 
them,  and  leave  me  to  my  sleep.     Good  night !  " 

"  Your  pardon,  monsieur,"  said  tbe  courier ;  "  I  came 
not  here  to  sleep,  but  am  in  advance  of  a  carriage  which  ex- 
pects relays  at  Varennes." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you  ;  but  it  is  no  use  expecting  relays  at 
Varennes,  for  we  do  not  possess  a  post-house." 

"  I  know  that,  monsieur." 

"Why  did  you  ask  me,  then  ?" 

A  woman's  voice  was  heard. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 


t*  133 


"Come  to  bed,  Martin,'*  said  she.  "You  ought  to  see 
that  lie  is  only  making  fun  of  you." 

"  You  hear — my  wife  calls  me  !  " 

He  tried  to  close  the  door,  hut  the  unknown  stopped  him 
by  placing  his  arm  in  the  aperture. 

"  Ha,  monsieur  !  "  said  the  tradesman  ;  "  what  docs  this 
mean  ?  Ho  you  wish  to  do  me  an  injury  '■' "' 

"Do  not  be  frightened;  I  only  wish  to  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion." 

"  You  have  asked  me  ten  already*." 

"1  know  that  I  am  at  Varennes,  thanks  to  you  ;  I  know 
that  there  is  no  post-house,  but  I  knew  that  before.  Hav- 
ing been  so  kind  as  to  answer  those  questions,  perhaps  you 
will  not  object  to  one  more?" 

"  How  ?  Did  not  you  tell  me  that  you  were  preceding  a 
carriage  to  Varennes  ?  " 

"  No  doubt ;  but  you  have  not  allowed  me  to  continue. 
A  relay  ought  to  be  ready  opposite  the  first  houses  of  Neu- 
villy  ;  I  wished  to  ask — have  you  seen  that  relay?" 

"Oh,  that  is  another  thing;  you  should  have  begun  to 
speak  in  that  manner  !  " 

"  Have  you  seen  them  ?  " 

"  The  relay  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  relay." 

"  No,  monsieur,  I  have  not." 

"  You  must  tell  me  all  that  you  know,  at  once,"  cried  the 
impatient  courier. 

"  1  have  told  you  about  the  relay,  but  you  did  not  ask 
me  till  just  now." 

The  same  woman's  voice  was  again  heard,  crying  out 
afresh.  "Make  him  go,  husband,"  she  said;  "he  is  only 
making  a  fool  of  you — he  is  doing  it  for  a  wager." 

"  You  hear,  sir,"  said  the  man ;  "  my  wife  says  you  are 
doing  it  for  a  wager." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  I  assure  you,  monsieur.  Thank 
you  for  your  information  ;  you  can  now  shut  your  door,  and 
reseek  your  wife." 

The  tradesman  slammed  his  door  in  a  rage. 

"  Shall  1  wait  here  ?  "  soliloquised  the  unknown. 

He  was  not  long  kept  waiting.  During  the  dialogue  on 
the  door-step,  the  carriage  was  rapidly  drawing  nigh  ;  not 
only  did  he  hear  the  wheels,  but  the  neighing  of  the 
horses. 


184  *'  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

« 

The  courier,  placing  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  road, 
awaited  its  arrival. 


-«  »»»  >- 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

THE   TRAGEDY    OF   ROYALTY   BEGINS. 

Scarcely  five  minutes  had  passed,  when  I  hegan  to  dis- 
tinguish a  hlack  phantom;  and  soon  after  I  saw  the  sparks 
flying  from  under  the  horses'  hoofs. 

As  the  mass  approached,  I  saw  that  it  was  composed  of 
two  carriages. 

The  first  was  an  ordinary  cahriolet ;  the  second,  an  im- 
mense travelling  carriage. 

On  seeing  the  road  blocked  by  one  man,  on  foot,  holding 
a  horse  by  the  bridle,  the  postilion  cracked  his  whip,  and 
shouted  to  the  horses  to  go  on. 

But  the  unknown,  in  an  imperative  voice,  cried  out 
"  Stop  !  "  lifting  his  hand  at  the  same  time.  "I  wish  to 
speak  to  the  travellers  in  the  second  carriage  !  " 

"  Oh,  Valory  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  the  first ;  "  is  anything 
wrong  ?  " 

"  !No,  madame  ;  only  a  slight  mistake." 

Then  approaching  the  second  carriage,  "Pardon,"  said 
he  ;  "  we  have  arrived  at  Varennes,  and  there  is  no  relay." 

"  How  ! — no  relay  ?  What  is  the  reason  of  it  ?  "  replied 
a  female  voice. 

"  I  know  not ;  but  I  am  very  nervous  about  it." 

"  Wake  up,  monsieur,"  said  the  same  voice,  with  an  im- 
patient gesture.  "  Do  you  not  hear  what  M.  Valory 
says  ?  " 

"  What  does  he  say  ?"  replied  a  masculine  voice. 

"  He  says  that  we  are  at  Varennes,  and  that  there 
are  no  relays." 

"  Has  he  asked  ?  " 

"For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  knocked;  for  another 
quarter,  I  talked,  I  asked,  and  commanded  fruitlessly." 

"  Let  us  get  out,"  said  the  masculine  voice,  "  and  take 
a  look  about  for  ourselves." 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  135 

The  door  opened. 

"No,"  said  the  female  voice  ;  "let  me  get  down  ;  I  will 
manage  it," — and  she  leaped  nimbly  to  the  earth. 

"  Madame — madame  ! '"'  said  the  voice  of  a  child;  "let 
me  get  out  with  you." 

"  No,  Louis,"  said  the  lad}' ;  "  stay  in  the  carriage  with 
your  papa  ;  I  shall  come  back  in  a  moment.  Give  me  your 
arm,  M.  de  Valory." 

The  courier  approached,  respectfully,  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  offered  his  arm  to  the  lady  who  asked  it. 

"Here,"  said  she  ;  "just  here  is  a  door  opening." 

But  as  she  spoke  the  words,  though  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree open,  it  was  shut  again. 

M.  de  Valory  jumped  forward,  and,  at  the  risk  of  cutting 
his  hand,  seized  the  door  on  his  side,  and  pulled  it  violent- 
ly backward. 

The  door  yielded  to  the  force  used,  and  showed  a  man  of 
fifty  or  fifty-five  years,  holding  a  candle  in  his  hand.  He 
was  attired  in  a  dressing-gown,  and  had  his  naked  feet 
thrust  into  slippers. 

This  was  the  same  M.  Prefontaine  whom  I  have  already 
spoken  of,  and  with  whom  M.  Dampierre  stayed  when  he 
came  to  Varennes. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Monsieur  ?  "  asked  the  astonished 
old  Chevalier ;  "and  why  do  you  break  open  my  door?  " 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  the  courier,  "  we  do  not  know  Var- 
ennes ;  we  are  en  route  for  Stenay.  Will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  point  out  the  road  we  ought  to  follow  ?  " 

"  If  I  render  you  this  service,  perhaps  I  shall  be  com- 
promised ! " 

"  You,  I  am  sure,  will  never  refuse  to  render  a  service  to 
a  lady  who  is  in  danger." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  the  lady  who  is 
behind  you  is  not  simply  a  woman."  Then  lowering  his 
voice,  he  said,  "  It  is  the  Queen  !  " 

M.  de  Valory  tried  to  deny  it ;  but  the  Queen,  taking  him 
by  the  arm,  "Lose  no  time  in  discussion,"  she  said;  "tell 
the  King  alone  that  we  are  discovered." 

At  this  moment,  two  other  young  gentlemen,  dressed  as 
couriers,  jumped  down  from  the  box  of  the  chaise. 

"  Sire,"  said  M.  Valory,  "  the  Queen  desires  me  to  tell 
you  that  she  is  recognised." 


136  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

"  By  wfrom  ?  "  asked  the  King. 

"  By  an  old  man,  of  courteous  manners,  who,  though  a 
little  timid,  has  the  air  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Ask  him  to  come  and  speak  to  me,"  said  the  King. 

M.  Valory  transmitted  the  invitation  to  the  gentleman. 

He  went  to  the  carriage,  showing  signs  of  great  appre- 
hension. 

The  Queen  followed  him  ;  her  face,  made  visible  by  the 
light  of  the  candle  which  he  held,  expressed  supreme  dis- 
dain. 

"  Your  name,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  King. 

"  De  Prefontaine,"  replied  the  interrogated,  hesitatingly. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Major  of  cavalry,  sire,  and  Chevalier  of  the  Military 
Order  of  St.  Louis." 

"  In  your  double  capacity  as  major  of  cavalry,  and 
Chevalier  of  the  Order  of  St.  Louis,  3-ou  have  twice  sworn 
fealty  to  your  King.  It  is,  therefore,  your  duty  to  aid  me 
in  the  difficulty  in  which  I  find  myself." 

The  Major  murmured  some  words ;  the  Queen  stamped 
her  foot  with  impatience. 

"  Ah,  sire  !  "  said  she ;  "  see  you  not  that  the  Major  is 
afraid."' 

The  King  looked  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her  remark. 

"  Monsieur,"  continued  he,  "  have  you  heard  that  a 
detachment  of  hussars,  and  relays  of  horses,  await  a 
treasure  which  must  pass  through  Yarennes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire,"  replied  M.  de  Prefontaine. 

"  Where  are  the  hussars  ?     Where  are  the  horses  ?  " 

u  In  the  Low  Town,  sire." 

"  And  the  officers  ?  " 

"  At  the  '  Hotel  du  Grand  Monarque.'  " 

"Monsieur,  I  thank  you,"  said  the  King.  "You  can 
return  to  your  house  ;  no  one  has  seen  you — no  one  has 
heard  you  ;   therefore,  no  harm  can  happen  to  you." 

The  Major  took  the  hint,  and  retired,  after  having  made 
a  profound  obeisance. 

"Messieurs,"  said  the  King,  addressing  the  two  young 
gentlemen  who  had  dismounted  from  the  box-seat,  "  take 
your  places.  You,  M.  de  Yalory,  jump  on  your  horse,  and 
gallop  on  to  the  '  Grand  Monarque.'  You  hear  that  our 
escort  is  there." 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  137 

The  two  young  gentlemen  took  their  places,  and 
M.  de  Valory  vaulted  into  his  saddle. 

The  King  and  Queen  re-entered  the  carriage,  the  door 
of  which  was  shut  by  one  of  the  postilions. 

"  Postilions  !  "  cried  all  three  gentlemen,  with  one  voice, 
"to  the  '  Hotel  du  Grand  Monarque.'  " 

The  men  whipped  up  their  horses  ;  but  at  the  same 
instant,  a  man,  covered  with  dust,  on  a  horse  flecked  with 
foam,  seemed  to  spring  from  the  ground,  and  rushing  diag- 
onally across  the  road,  cried  out,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
"Stop,  postilions  !     You  drive  the  King!" 

I  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment,  for  I  recognized  the 
voice  of  M.  Drouet. 

The  postilions  who  had  hitherto  been  lashing  their 
horses,  stopped,  as  if  stricken  by  a  cannon-shot. 

The  Queen  felt,  without  doubt,  that  it  was  a  moment  for 
decisive  action. 

"  Order  them  !  Command  them  !  "  she  cried,  to  the 
King. 

The  King  put  his  head  out  of  the  carriage  window. 

"  AY  ho  are  you,  sir,"  said  he,  "  that  you  dare  to  give 
orders  here  ?" 

"A  simple  citizen,  sire,"  replied  M.  Drouet;  "but," 
continued  he,  raising  himself  in  his  stirrups,  and  stretch- 
ing out  his  arm,  "  I  speak  in  the  name  of  the  nation  and 
of  the  law.     Postilions  !  not  a  step  farther,  on  your  lives  !  " 

"Postilions!"  cried  the  King,  "  to  the  'Grand  Monar- 
que ! '     It  is  I  who  command  you  !  " 

"  To  the  '  Grand  Monarque  ! '  "  cried  the  three  gentle- 
men. 

"  Postilions  ! "  cried  M.  Drouet,  "  you  know  me  well, 
and  are  accustomed  to  obey  me.  I  am  Jean  Baptiste 
Drouet,  postmaster  at  St.  Menehould." 

M.  de  Valory  saw  the  indecision  of  the  postilions — ten 
men  stopped  by  one.  He  saw  that  it  was  necessary  to  slay 
that  one,  and,  drawing  his  couteau  de  chasse,  he  went  at 
him. 

In  a  moment,  I  jumped  out  of  my  hiding-place,  and 
seized  the  bridle  of  his  horse. 

The  horse,  bein^  frightened,  reared,  and  threw  its  rider. 

M.  Drouet  recognised  me. 

"  Ah  !  is  it  you,  liene  ?  "  he  exclaimed.     Follow  me  !  " 


138  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

Sticking  his  spurs  into  his  horse,  he  seemed  to  sink  into 
the  ground,  so  quickly  did  he  disappear  down  the  declivity 
of  the  Rue  des  Religieuses. 

"  Here  I  am  !  Here  I  am,  M.  Drouet ! "  cried  I,  follow- 
ing quickly  behind  him. 

M.  Drouet  dashed  down  the  Rue  des  Religieuses,  crossed, 
like  a  flash  of  lightning  the  Place  Latry,  plunged  under 
the  arch,  and  reappeared  in  a  moment  on  the  other  side,  in 
front  of  the  "Hotel  Bras  d'Or,"  running  up  against  another 
cavalier  as  he  did  so. 

"  Is  it  thou,  Drouet  ?  "  said  the  cavalier. 

"  Is  it  thou,  Guillaume  ?  "  cried  Drouet. 

"  Yes  !  "  "  Yes  !  "  each  replied  simultaneously. 

Both  dismounted,  that  they  might  pass  under  the 
entrance  of  the  inn. 

In  the  meantime,  the  billiard-plaj'ers,  hearing  a  noise, 
rushed  to  the  window,  to  see  what  it  meant. 

"  Be  on  your  guard  !  "  cried  M.  Drouet.  "  The  King, 
with  his  family,  are  trying  to  escape  !  They  are  travelling 
in  two  carriages.  Wake  up  M.  Sauce  ! — cry  '  Fire  !  fire  S ' 
Guillaume  and  I  will  guard  the  bridge." 

At  this  moment,  I  arrived,  and  dashed  against  the  door 
of  the  Procureur  de  la  Commune,  cr}Mng  as  loud  as  I  could, 
"  Fire  !  fire  !  "  as  M.  Drouet  had  recommended. 

In  the  meantime,  he  and  Guillaume  had  disappeared 
down  the  Rue  Neuve. 

At  the  end  of  the  bridge,  they  encountered  a  cart 
filled  with  furniture. 

"  Whose  cart  is  that?  "  cried  M.  Drouet. 

"  Mine,"  replied  the  driver. 

"Ah,  is  it  yours,  Regnier?"  said  Guillaume.  "You,  I 
know,  are  a  good  patriot.  Turn  your  cart  across  the 
bridge ;  it  will  stop  the  passage  of  the  king." 

"  The  King  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  the  King.  He  wishes  to  get  to  the  Place  of  the 
'  Grand  Monarque, '  where  the  hussars  await  him." 

"  I  have  seen  them,"  said  Guillaume. 

"And  I  also,"  said  Regnier. 

"  Now  to  work,"  said  the  two  young  men. 

"  Yes ;  to  work  ! "  replied  the  proprietor  of  the  furni- 
ture. 

And  all  three  with  their  united  efforts,  managed  to  up- 
set the  cart  across  the  bridge. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  139 

When  the  operation  was  finished,  they  listened. 

They  heard  the  rumble  of  the  carriages,  which  descended 
the  Kue  des  Religieuses  at  full  speed,  at  the  same  time  the 
cry  of  "  Fire  !  fire  !  "  hurst  upon  their  ears. 

I  will  now  tell  you  what  occurred  on  the  high  road, 
after  M.  Drouet  and  I  left  the  two  carriages,  as  well  as 
I  can  from  the  description  given  me  afterwards  by  M.  de 
Prefontaine,  who,  though  he  had  closed  his  door,  took  good 
care  to  open  his  window,  and,  therefore,  saw  and  heard  all 
that  passed. 

M.  de  Valory,  when  he  fell',  did  not  abandon  his  hold  on 
the  bridle  of  his  horse,  and  as  he  tumbled  on  soft  ground, 
he  escaped  with  a  few  bruises. 

He  was,  therefore,  soon  again  mounted,  and,  threatening 
the  postilions  with  his  raised  whip,  he  cried,  "  Well, 
wretches,  have  you  understood  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  and  have  vou  ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  That  which  M.  Drouet  said.  He  told  us  not  to  go  any 
farther." 

"  You  dare  to  quote  M.  Drouet,  when  the  King  com- 
mands ! " 

"  Get  rid  of  the  three  scoundrels  ! "  said  one  of  the 
young  gentlemen  on  the  box,  "and  let  us  drive  the  carriage 
ourselves." 

"  Gentlemen  !  "  cried  the  Queen,  who  saw  that  there  was 
going  to  be  bloodshed. 

Then  to  the  postilions — "  Gentlemen,"  she  said,  in  her 
softest  voice,  "  I  do  not  order,  I  entreat.  Fifty  louis  to  each 
one  of  you,  if  you  drive  us  safely  to  the  '  Grand  Mon- 
arque.'  " 

Frightened  of  the  swords  of  the  gentlemen,  and  melted 
by  the  entreaty  of  the  Queen,  the  postilions  set  off  at  a 
gallop. 

But  they  had  lost  ten  minutes,  and  these  ten  minutes 
M.  Drouet  had  turned  to  profit. 

They  dashed  on,  but  were  obliged  to  avoid  the  arch,  for 
fear  of  breaking  their  heads,  so  they  turned  round  the 
church,  and  began  to  descend  the  Kue  Basse  Cour. 

But  before  they  could  execute  that  mameuvre,  their 
course  was  suddenly  arrested. 

The  cabriolet,  as  we  have  said,  preceded  the  chaise  ;  but 


140  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

scarcely  had  it  turned  out  of  the  Place,  when  the  hridles  of 
the  horses  were  seized  by  two  men.  These  were  the  elder 
Leblanc,  and  M.  Thevenin,  of  Islettes. 

That  first  carriage  contained  but  two  maids  of  honor  to 
the  Queen — Mesdames  Brunier  and  De  Neuville. 

"Messieurs!  messieurs!"  cried  they;  "what  is  your 
will  ?  " 

At  this  moment,  a  man  advanced  towards  the  cabriolet. 
He  was  the  Procureur  de  la  Commune,  M.  Sauce,  who, 
awakened  from  his  sleep  had  sallied  out,  determined  to  do 
his  duty. 

"  Excuse  me,  ladies,"  said  he,  "  but,  without  doubt,  you 
have  passports  ?  " 

"  They  are  with  the  people  in  the  other  carriage," 
replied  Madame  de  Neuville. 

The  cabriolet  having  stopped,  the  chaise  was  forced  to  do 
likewise  ;  thus  it  was  completely  blockaded  MM.  Drou- 
et,  Guillaume,  and  Begnier,  having  finished  barricading 
the  bridge,  rushed  to  the  spot.  There  were  four  persons, 
armed  with  guns — namely,  our  four  billiard-players,  Coquil- 
lard,  Justin,  Soucin,  and  Delion  ;  a  fifth  had  arrived — 
namely,  Billaud,  who  had  heard  the  noise  ;  and  a  sixth, 
M.  Bellay,  opened  his  door,  and  seemed  not  less  ardent  than 
the  others. 

All  at  once,  I  felt  my  arm  grasped  by  a  trembling  hand, 
and  the  voice  of  Sophie  whispered  in  my  ear  "  Por  the 
love  of  me,  Bene,  do  not  meddle  in  this  matter!  " 

If  M.  Drouet  had  required  my  assistance,  I  am  afraid 
that  he  would  have  triumphed  over  Sophie;  but  he  did  not, 
as  he  was  incurring  no  present  danger;  so  I  stood  silent, 
motionless  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  with  Sophie  on  my 
arm. 

M.  Gerbaut's  wrindow  opened,  and  we  heard  him  ask 
what  was  the  matter. 

All  the  windows  and  doors  in  the  street  opened  one  after 
the  other,  the  cries  of  "  Fire  !  fire  !  "  having  alarmed  all, 
and  made  them  anxious  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

During  this  time,  M.  Sauce  had  been  approaching  the 
chaise  ;  and  as  if  he  knew  not  who  the  travellers  were — 
"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"I  am  the  Baroness  de  Korff,"  replied  Madame  de 
Tourzel,  governess  of  the  Dauphin. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  141 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"To  Frankfort,  with  my  two  children,  my  two  sisters,  my 
steward,  and  1113'  two  female  attendants.  The  latter  are  in 
the  first  carriage." 

"  Madame,"  said  Sauce,  "you  are  going  the  wrong  way 
to  Frankfort — hut  that  is  not  the  question.  Have  you  a 
passport  ?  " 

.Madame  de  Tourzel  drew  the  passport  from  her  pocket, 
and  presented  it  to  the  Procureur  de  la  Commune. 

The  passport  was  correct.  It  was,  in  fact,  that  of 
Madame  de  Korff,  which  M.  de  Fersen  had  given  to  the 
Queen. 

M.  Sauce  took  the  passport,  whi'eh  the  false  Baroness 
handed  him  ;  and,  bj*  the  light  of  a  lantern  which  an  offi- 
cious bj-stander  offered  him,  began  to  reconnoitre  the  King. 

The  king,  no  doubt,  wounded  by  the  mark  of  disrespect, 
tried  to  make  some  resistance. 

"Who  are  you,  sir?"  asked  he  of  the  magistrate. 
"  What  is  your  rank  ?     Are  you  only  a  National  Guard  '.'  " 

"  I  am  Procureur  de  la  Commune,"  replied  M.  Sauce. 

The  King,  whether  dumbfounded  by  the  force  of  these 
wTords,  or  conceiving  that  the  response  was  sufficient,  made 
no  further  objections. 

The  procureur  threw  his  eyes  over  the  passport,  and 
addressing,  not  the  King,  hut  the  false  Baroness  de  Koff, — 
"  Madame,"  said  he,  "  it  is  too  late  to  vise?'  a  passport  to- 
night; and,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  my  duty  to  detain 
you !  " 

The  Queen  interposed. 

"  Why  so,  sir  ?  "  she  demanded  in  an  imperative  manner. 

"  Because,  did  I  permit  you  to  continue  your  route,  I 
should  be  running  a  risk,  on  account  of  the  reports  that  are 
flying  about." 

"  Pray,  sir,  to  what  reports  do  you  allude  ?" 

"The  report  of  the  flight  of  the  King  and  his  family," 
replied  Sauce,  fixedly  regarding  the  King. 

The  travellers  were  aghast.  The  Queen  drew  hack  into 
the  shadow  of  the  carriage. 

All  this  time,  the  passport  was  being  examined,  in  a  pub- 
lic room  in  the  "Grand  Monarque,"  by  the  light  of  two 
candles.  A  member  of  the  council  remarked  that  the  pass- 
port was  correct,  since  it  bad  been  signed  by  the  King  and 
the  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs. 


142  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

"  Yes,"  remarked  Drouet,  who  had  arrived  with  Guil- 
laiime  and  Regnier  during  the  discussion,  "  but  it  is  not 
signed  by  the  President  of  the  National  Assembly  !  " 

"How?"  said  a  voice.  "  Why  should  it  be  signed  by 
him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  it  should  be,"  said  Drouet,  "  eonsdering  that 
France  is  a  nation — considering  that  it  has  appointed  depu- 
ties to  maintain  its  rights.  The  true  King  of  France  is  he 
who  sat  on  a  seat  as  lofty  as  the  King's  at  the  Champ  de 
Mars — not  only  the  veritable,  but  the  more  than  King  !  " 

All  were  silent.  No  one  could  oppose  such  logic  as  that. 
That  great  social  question,  which  had  disturbed  France  for 
seven  hundred  years, — "  Is  there  in  France  an  authority 
superior  to  the  King's  ?  "  was  settled  in  the  public  room  of 
an  inn  in  a  little  town  on  the  borders  of  the  Forest  of 
Argonne. 

Drouet  walked  straight  to  the  carriage.  In  all  popular 
movements  he  took  the  lead,  and,  therefore,  the  responsi- 
bility. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  addressing  the  Queen,  and  not 
Madame  Tourzel,  "  if  you  are  really  Madame  de  Korff — 
that  is  to  say,  a  Swiss,  and  consequently  a  stranger — how 
is  it  that  you  have  sufficient  influence  to  command  a 
military  escort  consisting  of  a  detachment  of  dragoons  at 
St.  Menehould,  and  another  at  Clermont ;  also  a  first 
detachment  of  hussars  at  Pont-de-Somme-Vesles,  and  a 
second  at  Varennes  ?  " 

To  end  a  fatiguing  discussion,  and  one  in  which  M. 
Drouet  feared  that  the  Procureur,  an  honest  man  enough, 
but  not  equal  to  any  great  situation,  would  eventually 
yield,  he  put  his  hand  into  the  carriage  as  a  support  for  the 
Queen,  and  said,  "  Will  you  be  so  kind,  maSame,  as  to 
descend  ?  " 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  Procureur  was  most  dreadfully 
embarrassed. 

Encouraged  by  M.  Drouet's  invitation  to  the  Queen,  and 
hearing  the  tocsin  begin  to  ring,  he,  however,  approached 
the  door — from  which  he  had  been  turned  to  make  place 
for  M.  Drouet — with  great  humility,  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  The  Municipal  Council  is  deliberating,"  said  he, 
"  whether  it  would  be  advisable  to  allow  you  to  continue 
your  route ;  but  a  report,  wrong  or  otherwise,  has  been 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  143 

spread  about  that  it  is  the  King  and  his  august  family 
whom  we  have  the  honor  of  receiving  in  our  walls.  I  beg 
you,  therefore,  to  accept  the  shelter  of  my  house,  in  all 
amity,  until  such  time  as  the  council  shall  have  finished 
their  deliberation.  Against  our  will  the  tocsin  has  been 
sounded.  The  concourse  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  is 
increased  by  the  entry  of  the  country  people  ;  and,  perhaps, 
the  King — if.  in  truth.  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  a 
King — majr  be  exposed  to  insults  which  we  should  be 
unable  to  prevent,  and  which  would  fill  us  with  unmitigated 
grief!" 

It  was  no  use  his  resisting.  The  Low  Town  was  evi- 
dently ignorant  of  what  was  passing  in  the  High  Town. 
No  succor  arrived,  or,  indeed,  appeared  likely  to  arrive. 
The  three  jToung  gentlemen  dressed  as  couriers  had  no 
other  arms  than  their  couteaux  de  chasse,  and  could  not 
undertake  to  fight  with  thirty  men  armed  with  guns.  The 
tocsin  still  vibrated  in  the  air,  and  found  an  echo  in  every 
heart. 

The  King  set  the  example,  and  alighted. 

I  then  had  a  good  view  of  him.  and  my  astonishment  at 
seeing  a  king  in  such  a  costume  was  great. 

He  wore  a  drab  gray  coat,  a  satin  waistcoat,  and  a  pair 
of  gray  trousers,  gray  stockings,  shoes  with  buckles,  and  a 
three  cornered  hat. 

In  descending,  he  knocked  his  head  against  the  top  of 
the  door,  and  his  hat  fell  off.  His  hair  was  in  tresses  on 
the  top  of  his  head,  and  was  fixed  there  with  an  ivory 
comb. 

In  a  word,  his  costume  corresponded  with  the  title  of  a 
steward,  which  he  bore  in  the  passport  of  Madame  Korff. 

I  picked  up  the  hat,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

The  Queen  descended  next,  and  after  her,  Madame  Roy- 
ale  and  the  Dauphin,  who  was  disguised  as  a  little  girl ; 
then  came  Madame  Elizabeth,  and,  last,  Madame  de  Tour- 
zel. 

Sauce  had  opened  wide  the  door  of  his  shop,  and  passed 
all  sorts  of  compliments  on  the  King  whom  he  persisted  in 
calling  "  your  Majesty,"  though  the  King  equally  persisted 
that  his  name  was  M.  Durand. 

The  Queen  had  not  the  courage  to  support  this  humiliat- 
ing assumption. 


144  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  she,  "  if  monsieur  is  your  King,  and 
I  your  Queen,  treat  us  with  the  respect  that  our  rank 
demands." 

At  these  words,  the  King  was  ashamed,  and  said,  "Very 
well,  I  am  3'our  King  ;  there  is  your  Queen,  and  there  are 
our  children." 

Though  vulgar  enough  in  his  royal  dress,  the  King  lost 
altogether  what  little  dignity  he  had  under  the  costume  of 
a  steward. 

Besides,  always  unfortunate,  a  grocer's  shop,  with  its  sur- 
roundings, was  not  the  most  romantic  spot  in  which  to  utter 
those  royal  words  : — 

"  Placed  in  the  capital,  in  the  midst  of  swords  and  bay- 
onets, I  came  to  seek  in  the  country,  in  the  midst  of  my 
faithful  subjects,  the  liberty  and  peace  that  were  denied  me 
in  Paris." 

Then,  opening  his  arms,  he  pressed  poor  M.  Sauce,  par- 
alyzed with  the  honor,  to  his  breast. 

At  the  moment  that  the  King  embraced  M.  Sauce,  a 
thunder  of  horses'  hoofs  was  heard  coming  in  an  unexpected 
direction — that  is  to  say,  from  the  Place  Latry. 

The  King  believed  that  it  was  assistance,  but  the  patriots 
smelt  danger;  and  M.  Drouet  cried  out,  "Take  the  King 
up  to  the  first  floor  !  " 

Sauce  asked  the  King  to  follow  him,  and  he  did  so,  with- 
out making  anjr  difficulty. 

Scarcely  was  the  door  of  the  chamber  on  the  ground-floor 
shut,  when  they  heard  a  tumult  at  the  head  of  the  Rue  de 
la  Passe  Cour,  by  the  side  of  the  Place  Latry. 

Man}'  voices  cried  out  "  The  King  !  the  King!  " 

One  voice  alone  replied,  "  If  it  is  the  King  you  want, 
you  will  have  him  dead  !  " 

Recognizing  Drouet's  voice,  and  thinking  perhaps  he 
might  want  me,  I  crept  to  his  side. 

At  the  moment  that  I  opened  a  passage  to  him  they  were 
parleying;  but  M.  Drouet  and  his  friends  parleyed  with 
muskets  in  their  hands,  and  the  officers  of  hussars  with 
their  sabres  on  their  wrists. 

Between  the  two  officers  of  hussars  I  recognised  M.  de 
Mai  my  on  horseback,  and  covered  with  dust,  like  them. 

It  appeared  as  if  he  had  guided  them. 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  145 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  PARIS  BEFORE  THE  DEPARTURE. 

My  story  would  be  incomplete  did  I  not  follow  the  royal 
family  in  their  flight  from  the  moment  that  they  left  the 
Palace  of  Tuileries,  till  their  appearance  at  the  top  of  the 
Rue  des  Religieuses;  and  did  I  not  te1!  you  through  what 
circumstances  M.  Drouet  was  led  to  make  his  appearance  in 
time  to  change  the  face  of  events,  and  to  give  that  terrible 
blow  to  the  throne  of  the  Bourbons  which  occasioned  Louis 
XVI  not  only  the  loss  of  his  crown,  but  of  his  head. 

I  have  already  told  you  that  Mirabeau,  on  his  death-bed, 
asserted  that  the  King's  onlvhope  rested  inflight  now  that 
he  was  deprived  of  his  assistance. 

From  that  moment,  Louis  XVI  had  but  one  idea — to 
leave  Paris — to  leave  France — to  fly  to  a  foreign  land. 

We  have  mentioned  the  date  of  April,  1791. 

This  is  what  happened  on  that  date. 

The  King  had  wished  to  go  to  St.  Cloud  ;  that  was  on 
the  Easter  Mondaj'. 

The  King,  the  Queen,  the  bishops,  the  servants,  filled  the 
carriages  in  which  they  were  to  make  the  short  travel  of 
two  leagues  ;  but  the  people  prevented  the  King  from  leav- 
ing the  Tuileries. 

The  King  insisted,;  the  tocsin  of  Saint  Roch  began  to 
sound  an  alarm. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  carriage  ;  thousands  of  voices  cried, 
"  No,  no  !     He  is  going  to  Ay  !  " 

"  I  love  you  too  well  to  leave  you  !  "  said  the  King. 

"  We,  also,  love  you  ! "  replied  the  spectators,  with  one 
voice  ;  "  but  you  alone  !  " 

The  Queen,  shut  out  from  the  love  of  France,  wept  and 
stamped ;  but,  for  all  that,  was  obliged  to  re-enter  the 
Tuileries. 

The  King  was  a  prisoner,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it; 
but  it  is  permitted  to  a  prisoner  to  escape. 

From  this  moment  the  King  prepared  for  flight. 

Two  other  parties  were  as  desirous  as  the  King  that  he 
should  leave  France. 

9 


146  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

The  one,  the  Royalist  party,  hecause  the  King,  once  free, 
would  be  able  to  re-enter  France  with  a  foreign  army  ;  the 
other,  the  Republican  party,  because  they  could  not  form  a 
republic,  without  cutting  his  head  off. 

Therefore,  one  will  perceive  that  they  who  arrested  the 
King  belonged  to  a  third  party — the  Constitution. 

His  decision  taken,  the  King  began  to  put  it  into  execu- 
tion. 

The  Queen  was  the  mainspring  of  the  plot ;  the  prin- 
cesses of  the  house  of  Austria  have  been  invariably  evil  genii 
to  the  Kings  of  France — Marie  de  Medicis,  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, Marie  Antoinette,  and  Marie  Louise. 

The  King  might  have  fled  alone,  and  that  was  the  idea 
that  first  occurred  to  him  ;  in  which  case  he  would  have  trav- 
elled on  horseback. 

But,  during  the  terrible  night  of  the  5th  of  October,  the 
Queen  became  so  frightened,  that  she  made  the  King  swear 
never  to  leave  France  without  her  and  their  children. 

It  was  then  resolved  that  they  should  all,  King,  Queen, 
and  children,  fly  together. 

That  doubled,  trebled,  and  quadrupled  the  difficulty,  and 
made  escape  almost  an  impossibility. 

The  Queen  undertook  the  deception. 

The  Queen  had  more  interest  than  the  King  in  leaving 
France.  Hear  you  that  cry  of  the  18th  of  April,  1791, 
which  interpreted  the  feelings  of  a  nation,  and  which  said, 
"We,  also,  sire  !     We  love  you,  but  you  alone  !  " 

In  January,  17*91,  the  flight  was  resolved  upon. 

In  February,  the  King  wrote  to  M.  de  Bouille  : — 

"  I  have  overtures  to  make  to  you  on  the  part  of 
M.  Mirabeau.  The  Count  de  Lamark  will  be  our  intermed- 
iate." 

He  added  : — 

"  Although  these  people  are  not  very  estimable,  still  I 
have  paid  M.  Mirabeau  a  good  sum  of  money.  I  think 
that  he  will  be  useful." 

M.  de  Bouille  replied  : — 

"  Cover  with  gold  the  defection  of  Mirabeau.  He  is  an 
accomplished  scoundrel,  who  will  repair,  through  cupidity, 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  147 

the  evil  that  he  has  worked  through  vengeance  ;  hut  defy 
Lafayette,  enthusiastic,  chimerical,  capable,  perhaps,  of 
being  the  chief  of  a  party,  but  incapable  of  supporting  a 
monarchy." 

Remark  that  De  Bouille  was  the  cousin  of  Lafayette. 
He  was  not,  as  one  can  see,  blinded  by  the  relationship. 

About  the  end  of  April,  the  King  wrote  again  to 
M.  de  Bouille. 

"  I  go  out  almost  incessantly  in  my  carriage  with  all  my 
familj' — a  carriage  made  expressly  to  hold  all." 

M.  de  Bouille  replied  : — 

"In  the  place  of  that  berlin  expressly  made,  and  which 
will  naturallj'  draw  attention,  it  will  be  more  prudent  for 
your  Majesty  to  use  two  English  coaches." 

The  coaches  mentioned  were  the  post-chaises  in  common 
use  at  that  period. 

The  counsel  was  good,  but  the  Queen  combated  the  idea. 
She  did  not  wish  to  be  separated  from  the  King,  and  did 
not  wish  the  children  to  be  separated  from  herself. 

M.  de  Bouille  continued  : — 

"  Have  with  you  in  your  perilous  journey  a  man  with  the 
head  of  a  Solon,  and  the  arm  of  a  Hercules — one  who  can 
plan  and  execute.  I  can  point  such  a  man  out  to  you.  He 
is  the  Marquis  d'Agout,  Major  of  the  French  Guards." 

The  King  adopted  this  counsel.  We  will  see,  later  on, 
how  it  was  that  M.  d'Agout  did  not  arrive  at  Varennes. 

The  King,  in  a  third  letter,  asked  M.  de  Bouille  to  estab- 
lish relays  from  Chalons  to  Montmedy,  his  intention  being 
to  avoid  Rheims,  where  he  had  been  consecrated,  and  might 
be  recognized,  and  pass  through  Varennes. 

M.  de  Bouille  replied,  that  in  passing  through  Rheims, 
the  carriage  blinds  could  be  drawn  down  ;  but  that  he  was 
sorry  that  the  King  persisted  in  using  that  noticeable  berlin  ; 
that  at  two  points  on  the  road  to  Varennes  there  were  no 
post-horses,  so  it  would  be  necessary  to  send  some  ;  and, 
lastly,  that  as  there  were  no  soldiers  on  that  route,  it  would 
be  necessary  to  order  up  some  detachments,  which  might 
excite  suspicion. 


148  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

The  King  persisted  in  going  the  Varennes  route. 

He  sent  a  million  in  assignats  to  M.  de  Bouille,  to  defray 
whatever  expenses  there  might  he  with  regard  to  troops, 
&c,  &c,  and  asked  him  to  send  an  experienced  officer  to  re- 
connoitre the  road  to  Varennes. 

M.  de  Bouille  could  not  but  obey  so  positive  a  command. 

He  sent,  on  the  10th  of  June,  M.  Goguelot  to  reconnoitre 
— a  mission  fitted  only  for  a  courageous  and  intelligent  offi- 
cer. 

M.  Goguelot  was  both. 

On  the  appointed  day  the  detachment  set  out. 

One  might  have  seen  a  train  of  artillery  of  six  pieces 
setting  out  for  Montmedy,  the  Royal  Germans  taking  the 
Stenay  route,  a  squadron  of  hussars  going  towards  Dun,  and 
another  towards  Varennes ;  and  at  the  same  time,  fifty  de- 
tached men  under  the  command  of  M.  de  Choiseul,  pushed 
on  for  Pont-de-Sornne-Vesles,  where  the  King  would  meet 
them  as  first  post. 

Afterwards,  at  St.  Menehould,  he  would  have  found  a  de- 
tachment of  dragoons,  under  the  command  of  M.  Dan- 
douins. 

At  Clermont  he  would  have  found  another  detachment, 
under  the  command  of  M.  de  Damas. 

He  would  have  found  the  relays  and  a  detachment  of 
hussars,  under  the  command  of  MM.  Bouille,  fils,  and  De 
Baigecourt,  at  Varennes,  and  at  Stenay  he  would  have 
found  M.  Stenay  in  person. 

All  being  arranged,  the  King  wrote  to  De  Bouille,  fixing 
the  day  for  the  19th  of  the  June  following. 


<  — .—  > 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 


WOW    THEY    SET    OUT. 


This  was  the  third  or  fourth  time  that  the  date  of  de- 
parture had  been  altered. 

They  had  determined  to  depart  on  the  11th,  but  having 
refused  to  take  Madame  de  Rochereul,  femme  de  chambre 
to  the  Dauphin,  and  mistress  of  M.  de  Gouvion,  aide-de- 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  149 

camp  to  Lafayette,  and  who  was  now  on  duty  till  the  12th, 
they  thought  that  it  was  imprudent  to  depart  on  that  day. 

On  the  13th  of  June,  the  Austrians  began  to  advance  on 
the  French  frontier,  and  to  occupy  posts  two  leagues  from 
Montmedy. 

The  departure  was  postponed  until  the  15th  following. 

On  the  evening  of  the  15th,  the  King  set  out  with  the 
royal  family,  in  a  plain  carriage,  the  herlin  awaiting  them 
at  Bondy. 

If  the  King  did  not  arrive  at  Bondy  at  two  o'clock,  it 
was  arranged  that  it  should  be  taken  for  granted  that  he 
had  been  stopped  at  the  Tuileries  or  at  the  barrier. 

In  that  case,  it  was  arranged  that  the  person  in  charge 
of  the  herlin  should  set  out  alone,  and  not  stop  till  he 
arrived  at  Ponte-de-Somme-Vesles ;  and  when  there,  that 
he  should  inform  M.  de  Choiseul  that  the  project  had 
failed. 

M.  de  Choiseul  would  then  tell  M.  Dandouins,  M.  de 
Damas,  M.  de  Bouille,  and  each  would  provide  for  their 
own  safety. 

M.  de  Bouille  received  these  new  instructions,  and  ar- 
ranged   accordingly. 

M.  de  Choiseul  set  out  at  the  same  time  for  Paris. 

At  Paris,  M.  de  Choiseul  awaited  the  orders  of  the  King, 
and  started  twelve  hours  in  advance. 

The  men  and  horses  belonging  to  M.  de  Choiseul  would 
stay  at  Varennes  from  the  18th. 

On  the  19th,  fresh  and  renovated,  they  would  pass 
through  Varennes,  and  put  up  at  a  farm,  half  way  between 
Varennes  and  Neuvilly.  One  must  call  to  mind  that  there 
was  no  post  at  Varennes. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  King,  they  would  take  the  place  of 
the  post-horses  from  Clermont,  and  conduct  the  royal  family 
to  Dun. 

On  his  return,  M.  de  Choiseul,  who,  as  we  said,  preceded 
the  King  by  twelve  hours,  would  take  command  of  the  forty 
hussars  at  Pont-de-Somme-Vesles.  At  Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesles  he  would  await  the  King,  and  would  escort  him  to 
St.  Menehould.  At  St.  Menehould  the  hussars  would  give 
place  to  the  dragoons,  and  be  left  to  block  the  road. 

After  the  King,  no  one  would  be  allowed  to  pass. 

After  twentj'-four  hours  the  road  woidd  be  left  clear, 
for  by  that  time  the  King  would  be  beyond  the  frontier. 


150  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

M.  de  Choiseul  had  orders  signed  by  the  King,  authoriz- 
ing him  to  demand  the  needful  number  of  men.  Six 
hundred  louis  d'or  were  distributed  by  him  to  the  soldiers. 

On  the  14th  of  June,  M  de  Bouille,  who  was  in  Hun- 
gary, received  a  letter  from  the  King. 

The  departure  is  postponed  for  twenty-four  hours. 
Whence  came  this  new  delay  ? 

We  will  tell  you :  the  reason  was  a  serious  one. 

The  King  did  not  receive  his  quarterly  income  until  the 
20th  ;  and  being  economical,  he  did  not  wish  to  lose  it. 

This  reason,  good  as  it  was,  made  M  de  Bouille  despair. 

In  fact  it  made  it  necessary  to  give  fresh  orders  all  along 
the  line.  Instead  of  two  days,  the  relays  would  have  to 
wait  three;  the  same  with  the  troops. 

On  the  20th  of  June,  M.  de  Bouille  advanced  to  Stenay, 
where  he  found  the  Royal  Germans. 

We  have  already  seen  that,  on  the  same  day,  the  hussars 
arrived  at  St.  Menehould,  announcing  the  arrival  of  the 
dragoons. 

We  know,  through  M.  Drouet,  what  a  sensation  their  un- 
expected appearance  created. 

We  have  seen  another  hussar  detachment  arrive  at 
Varennes,  causing  little  less  sensation  than  their  brothers- 
in-arms  did  at  St.  Menehould. 

Let  us  now  turn  our  attention  to  Paris,  and  see  what  was 
going  on  these  last  few  days. 

We  have  already  said  that  the  Queen  managed  the  diplo- 
macy.    She  diplomatised  wonderfully. 

Firstly,  she  had  used  the  white  horses  which  drew  the 
funeral  car  of  M.  Vohaire. 

Secondly,  on  the  19th,  she  took  a  stroll  with  the  Dauphin 
on  the  outer  boulevards. 

Thirdly,  on  the  20th,  she  said  to  M.  Montmorin,  Minister 
of  Foreign  Affairs,  "  Have  you  seen  Madame  Elizabeth  ? 
She  causes  me  pain.  I  wished  her  to  accompany  me  in  the 
procession  of  the  Fete  Diefu,  and  she  refuses  me." 

On  the  same  day,  meeting  a  commander  of  the  National 
Guard,  "Well,  monsieur,"  said  she,  laughing,  "do  they 
still  speak  of  the  flight  of  the  King  from  Paris?" 

"  No,  Madame,"  replied  the  commander ;  they  are  too 
well  convinced  of  the  King's  love  for  the  Constitution  and 
for  his  people." 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  151 

"They  are  right,"  replied  the  Queen. 

On  the  17th,  M.  Moustier,  ex-garde  du  corps,  had  been 
accosted  by  an  unknown  whilst  he  was  walking  in  the 
Tuileries. 

The  unknown  had  invited  him  to  follow  him  in  the  name 
of  the  King. 

M.  Moustier  had  obeyed.  Ten  minutes  afterwards  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  the  King. 

Louis  XVI  saluted  him  by  name. 

The  garde  du  corps,  astonished,  bowed. 

"I  know  you,  monsieur,"  said  the  King,  "and  feel  as- 
sured that  I  can  count  upon  you  ;  that  is  why  I  am  now 
addressing  you." 

"  Whatever  your  wishes  may  be,  I  hope  I  shall  prove 
myself  worthy  of  jrour  confidence,  sire." 

"  Think  you  that  I  can  count  equally  well  on  your  two 
friends,  De  Valory  and  De  Maiden  ?  " 

"  I  am  assured  of  it,  sire." 

"  Well,  tell  them  to  have  made  vests  of  chamois  leather, 
trousers  of  hide,  jack-boots,  and  velvet  caps." 

The  choice  of  chamois  leather  was  most  imprudent,  as  it 
was  the  color  of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  when  he  emigrated. 

M.  de  Moustier  was  then  asked  to  walk  every  evening 
on  the  Pont  Royal.  There,  a  confidential  servant,  who 
knew  him  by  sight,  would  bring  him  the  last  orders  of.  the 
King. 

On  the  evening  of  the  19th,  M.  Moustier  received  the 
following  order  : — 

"  M.  de  Moustier  and  his  companions  are  desired  to  be  in 
the  court  of  the  Chateau  to-morrow,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening ;  they  will  then  learn  what  is  required  of  them." 

Now,  about  the  passport.  We  know  that  the  Queen 
travelled  under  the  name  of  the  Baroness  de  Korff.  The 
two  children  were  the  Dauphin  and  Madame  Royal;  the 
intendant  was  the  King;  and  the  two  femmes-de-chamb re 
Mesdames  de  Neuville  and  Brunier. 

That  did  not  comprise,  it  is  true,  Madame  Elizabeth,  or 
M.  d'Agout,  whom  M.  de  Bouille  had  recommended  the 
King  to  take  with  him,  but  they  were  obliged  to  trust 
something  to  chance. 

On  the  morning  of  the  20th,  M.  Moustier  presented  his 
two  companions  to  the  King. 


152  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

M.  Maiden  was  to  take  the  name  of  Jean,  M.  de  Mou- 
stier  the  name  ot  Melchior,  and  M.  Valory  the  name  of 
Francois.  As  for  M.  de  Choisenl,  he  awaited  the  orders  of 
the  King  at  his  house,  Rue  d'Artois,  on  the  20th.  Up  to 
three  o'clock,  he  had  heard  nothing,  and  he  ought  to  start 
twelve  hours  in  advance  of  the  King.  He  began  to 
despair,  when  a  servant  entered  to  say  that  a  messenger 
had  arrived  from  the  Queen. 

He  ordered  the  messenger  to  be  shown  up. 

The  fellow  entered.  He  had  a  great  hat  thrust  over  his 
eyes,  and  was  wrapped  in  an  immense  cloak. 

It  was  the  Queen's  hairdresser,  the  famous  Leonard,  who 
has  left  his  memoirs  to  posterity.  He'  was  a  personage  of 
the  utmost  importance. 

"  What,  Leonard !  It  was  not  you  whom  I  expected  ; 
but,  since  you  are  come,  make  yourself  at  home." 

"It  is  not  my  fault  if  I  have  kept  you  waiting,  M.  le 
Comte  ;  but  it  is  but  ten  minutes  since  I  left  the  Queen  to 
come  here." 

"  And  she  has  told  you  nothing,  given  you  no  mes- 
sage ?  "  cried  the  Count,  astonished. 

"  She  told  me  to  take  all  her  diamonds,  and  bring  you 
this  letter." 

•''  Well,  well — give  it  me  !  " 

M.  de  Choiseul  read  the  letter. 

It  was  long,  and  full  of  instructions.  It  announced 
that  they  would  leave  punctually  to  the  moment. 

As  to  the  Comte  de  Choiseul,  it  commanded  him  to  set 
out  that  instant,  begging  him  to  take  Leonard  with  him, 
who,  continued  Marie  Antoinette,  had  orders  to  obey  him  as 
he  would  herself. 

M.  de  Choiseul  read  aloud  that  recommendation  to  Leon- 
ard, who  made  a  lowly  obeisance. 

He  then  burnt  the  letter. 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  Comte's  servant  entered. 

"  The  carriage  awaits  M.  le  Comte,"  said  he. 

"  Come,  my  dear  Leonard — come  !"  said  the  young  gen- 
tleman. 

"  Why  should  I  come  ?  "  cried  the  stupefied  hairdresser. 

"  Why  should  you  ?  Are  you  not  to  obey  me  as  you 
would  the  Queen  ?     Come  !  I  command  you  !  " 

"  But  her  Majesty's  diamonds  ?  " 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  153 

"You  will  bring  them  with  you." 

«  Where  ?  " 

"  Where  we  are  going." 

"  But  where  are  we  going  ?  " 

"  A  few  leagues  from  here,  where  we  have  to  fulfil  a  most 
particular  and  important  mission." 

"  Impossible,  M.  le  Comte  !"  cried  Leonard,  drawinghim- 
self  back  with  affright. 

"  Leonard,  you  forget  that  her  Majesty  said  that  you  were 
to  obey  me  as  you  would  herself."' 

He  then  assisted  the  despairing  hairdresser  to  mount  into 
the  cabriolet,  and  lashed  the  horse  into  full  speed  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Petite  Vilette. 

At  the  same  hour  that  M.  de  Choiseul  passed  the  harrier 
the  three  guards  were  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  King, 
and  then  shut  up  in  an  ante-chamber. 

At  ten  o'clock  M.  de  Lavfayette  was  announced. 

He  was  attended  by  MM.  de  Gouvin  and  De  Romeuf, 
his  aides-de-camp. 

Madame  de  Rochereul,  his  mistress,  had  told  him  that 
the  flight  was  arranged  for  the  same  night. 

The  Queen  and  Madame  Elizabeth  had  gone  in  the  eve- 
ning, without  an  escort,  to  promenade  in  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne. 

M.  de  Lafayette,  with  the  exquisite  politeness  which  was 
one  of  his  characteristics,  asked  the  Queen  if  she  had  en- 
joyed her  stroll ;  and  added,  "  Your  Majesty  was  wrong  to 
stay  out  so  late." 

'•  Why  so,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  Queen. 

"  Because  the  evening  fog  might  do  you  an  injury." 

"What!  a  fog  in  the  middle  of  June  ?  "  said  she.  "In 
truth,  unless  I  manufactured  one  on  purpose  to  hide  our 
flight,  which  people  talk  so  much  about,  I  do  not  know 
where  I  should  find  one." 

'•  The  fact  is,  madame,"  replied  the  General,  "  people 
not  only  talk  about  your  flight,  but  I  have  received  infor- 
mation that  it  will  take  place  this  evening." 

"  Ah  !  "'  said  the  Queen ;  "  I  engage  that  it  is 
M.  de  Gouvion  who  has  given  you  that  good  news." 

••  Why  I.  madame  '.'  "  said  the  young  officer,  blushing. 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  Queen,  "except  that,  per- 
haps, you  hear  a  great  deal  more  than  is  true  at  the  cha- 


154  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

teau.  Wait !  Here  is  M.  Romeuf,  who  hears  no  news ;  I 
am  sure  he  will  contradict  the  rumor." 

"  There  is  no  great  credit  in  doing  that,  madame,"  said 
the  young  man,  "  when  the  King  has  given  his  word  to 
the  Assembly  not  to  leave  Paris." 

At  ten  o'clock,  General  Lafayette  and  his  aides-de-camp 
retired. 

When  they  were  gone,  the  Queen  and  Madame  Elizabeth 
summoned  their  domestics  to  perform  the  necessary  offices 
of  their  toilettes,  and  at  eleven,  as  was  their  custom,  they 
retired  for  the  night. 

Tl.a  doors  shut,  each  commenced  to  dress. 

The  Queen  and  Madame  Elizabeth  assisted  each  other. 
They  had  some  plain  dresses,  and  hats,  with  hoods,  to  hide 
the  face. 

They  had  scarcely  finished  their  disguise,  when  the  King 
entered,  in  his  costume  of  intendant. 

For  the  last  eight  days,  the  King's  valet,  Hue,  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  going  out  in  the  costume  the  King  now 
wore,  and  by  the  same  door  the  King  intended  to  depart 
from.  This  was  done  in  order  to  accustom  the  sentinel  to 
a  man  dressed  in  gray. 

On  arriving,  he  released  the  three  guards  from  their 
hiding-place. 

Madame  Koyale  was  ready,  but  the  Dauphin  was  not. 
He  had  been  awakened  from  his  first  sleep  ;  and  so,  for  the 
sake  of  disguise,  it  had  been  arranged  to  dress  him  like  a 
girl.  He  made  all  sorts  of  objections  to  the  humiliating 
costume. 

He  asked,  "If  he  were  intended  to  act  in  a  comedy  ?  " 
They  replied  "  Yes."  And  as  he  liked  comedies,  he  allow- 
ed them  to  finish  his  toilette. 

The  gardes  du  corps  received  their  last  instructions. 

They  were  to  travel  as  far  as  Bondy  on  M.  de  Fersen's 
horses  ;  after  that  they  were  to  take  post. 

They  had  calculated  that,  if  thej'  went  at  a  moderate  rate, 
they  would  be  at  Chalons  in  twelve  or  fourteen  hours. 
They  approached  the  door,  and  listened.     All  was  silent. 

Let  us  see  with  what  difficulties  they  encompassed  them- 
selves. 

Firstly,  against  M.  de  Bouille's  advice,  who  proposed  two 
English  diligencies,  the  Queen  had  had  made  two  enormous 
berlins,  in  which  she  might  put  her  trunks,  boxes  and  bags. 


LOVE     AND     LIBKRTY.  155 

Then,  in  place  of  having  a  courier  in  simple  livery,  there 
were  three  gardes  du  corps,  in  the  livery  of  the  Prince  de 
Conde. 

Then,  in  place  of  choosing  three  men  who  knew  the 
route,  they  chose  three  who  had  never  travelled  that  way 
before. 

Then,  in  place  of  hiding  the  King,  who  was  supposed  to 
he  Madame  de  Korff's  steward,  in  the  other  carriage,  he 
was  placed  face  to  face  and  knee  to  knee,  with  his  pretend- 
ed mistress,  in  the  principal  conveyance. 

Then,  in  place  of  having  the  carriages  drawn  by  two,  or 
even  four,  horses,  they  must  needs  have  six,  not  remember- 
ing that  the  King  alone  is  allowed  to  have  that  number. 

Then,  in  place  of  arming  the  gardes  du  corps  to  the 
teeth,  they  give  them  small  hunting-knives  for  use,  and 
locked  up  the  pistols  and  other  implements  of  warfare  in 
the  trunk,  covered  with  red,  bordered  with  gold,  the  same 
as  the  King  used  at  Cherbourg. 

Then,  in  place  of  taking  M.  d'Agout,  that  resolute  man 
who  knew  the  route,  and  whom  M.  de  Bouille  had  recom- 
mended, they  take  Madame  Tourzel,  the  children's  gover- 
ness, who  claimed  the  place  by  etiquette  that  D'Agout 
would  have  won  by  devotion. 

Taking  all  in  all,  every  precaution  was  taken. 

Quos  vult  perdere  Jupiter  prius  dementat. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE     ROAD. 


In  a  moment,  the  clock  struck  eleven. 

Every  stroke  penetrated  the  hearts  of  the  fugitives,  and 
caused  them  to  tremble. 

They  went  out,  one  by  one.  But  how  were  they  able  to 
make  a  passage  to  the  court,  you  will  ask?  This  is  how  it 
was. 

Madame  de  Rochereul,  whose  duties  had  finished  on  the 
12th,  occupied  a  little  chamber  which  opened  into  another, 
which  had  not  been  used  for  six  months. 


156  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

The  empty  apartment  was  M.  Villequier's,  first  gentle- 
man of  the  bed-chamber.  It  was  empty  because  M.  Ville- 
quier  had  emigrated. 

That  apartment,  situate  on  the  ground  floor,  had  a  door 
opening  into  the  Cour  des  Princes. 

On  one  side,  the  chamber  of  Madame  de  Eochereul 
op-ened  both  into  one  belonging  to  M.  Villequier  and  Mad- 
ame Eoyale. 

On  the  11th,  the  moment  that  Madame  Eochereul  quit- 
ted the  chateau,  the  King  and  Queen  visited  her  apart- 
ment. 

Under  the  pretext  of  enlarging  Madame  Eoyale's  suite 
of  rooms,  the  Queen  kept  these  apartments,  and  said  that 
the  femnte-de-chambre  of  the  Dauphin  could  share  those 
of  Madame  de  Chinnai,  maid  of  honor. 

When  in  the  apartment  of  M.  Villequier,  the  King 
demanded  the  key  of  M.  Kenard,  inspector  of  buildings. 
It  was  sent  to  him  on  the  13th  of  June. 

Numerous  as  were  the  sentinels,  they  had  neglected  to 
place  one  at  the  door  of  that  chamber,  which  had  been 
unoccupied  for  the  space  of  three  months.  At  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  services  in  the  chateau  being 
finished,  the  sentinels  were  accustomed  to  witness  the 
departure  of  a  great  number  of  people  at  one  time. 

So  that  once  in  the  apartment  of  M.  Villequier,  and  as 
the  clock  struck  eleven,  they  had  every  chance  of  escaping 
unobserved. 

It  was  M.  de  Fersen's  business  to  smuggle  the  royal 
family  out  of  Paris,  unobserved. 

He  was  waiting  with  a  fiacre,  disguised  as  a  coachman, 
at  the  Wicket  de  l'Echelle  ;  thence  he  was  to  take  the 
fugitives  to  the  harrier  at  Clichy,  where  the  berlin  was  in 
waiting,  under  the  charge  of  an  Englishman,  Mr.  Craw- 
ford. 

The  three  gardes  du  corps  were  to  follow,  in  another 
fiacre. 

The  two  fcmmes-de-chambre,  Madame  Erunier  and  Mad- 
ame de  Xeuville,  went  on  foot  to  the  Pont  Eoyal,  where 
they  found  a  two-horsed  carriage  stationed,  in  which  they 
started  for  Claye,  where  they  were  to  await  the  Queen. 

Madame  Elizabeth  stepped  out  first,  with  Madame  Eoy- 
ale ;  then  came  Madame  de  Tourzel,  and  the  Dauphin, 
accompanied  by  one  of  the  gardes  du  corps. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  157 

The  two  parties  were  separated  one  from  the  other  by 
about  twenty  paces. 

One  of  the  sentinels  crossed  the  road,  and  on  seeing  the 
first  party,  stopped  them. 

"Oh,  aunt!"  cried  Madame  Roy  ale ;  "we  are  lost! 
That  man  recognises  us  !  " 

Madame  Elizabeth  made  no  reply,  but  continued  to 
advance. 

Madame  Royale  was  deceived.  They  were  not  recog- 
nised— or,  if  they  were,  it  was  by  a  fr-iend. 

The  sentinel  turned  his  back  on  them,  and  allowed  them 
to  pass. 

At  the  expiration  of  five  minutes,  Madame  de  Tourzel, 
the  two  princesses,  and  the  Dauphin  were  in  the  carriage, 
which  was  awaiting  them  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de 
PEchelle. 

M.  de  Fersen  was  so  well  disguised,  that  the  princesses 
did  not  recognize  him.  It  was  he  who  knew  them.  He 
leapt  from  his  box,  opened  the  door,  and  assisted  them  in. 

At  the  moment  that  M.  de  Fersen  shut  the  door,  an 
empty  fiacre  passed  by.  Seeing  a  brother  cabman  stop- 
ping, he  stopped  likewise,  and  began  to  enter  into  a  conver- 
sation about  the  times. 

M.  de  Fersen,  a  man  of  ready  wit,  sustained  the  conver- 
sation wonderfully,  and.  drawing  a  snuff-box  from  his 
pocket,  offered  his  friend  a  pinch. 

He  plunged  his  fingers  deep  into  the  box,  took  a  long  and 
voluptuous  sniff,  and  drove  on. 

At  this  moment  the  King,  followed  by  his  garde  du 
corps,  came  out  in  his  turn,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
swaggering  like  a  well-to-do  tradesman. 

He  was  followed  by  the  second  garde. 

During  his  passage,  one  of  the  buckles  of  his  shoes 
slipped  off.  The  King  did  not  care  to  stop  for  such  a 
trifling  matter  as  that,  but  the  garde  who  came  after  him 
picked  it  up. 

M.  de  Fersen  got  in  front  of  the  King. 

"  And  the  Queen,  sire  ?  "  asked  he. 

"The  Queen  follows  us,"  replied  the  King. 

He  then  got  into  the  carriage  in  his  turn. 

They  awaited  the  Queen. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  she  did  not  arrive. 


158  LOVE    AND    LIBEKTY. 

What  detained  her? 

The  Queen  was  lost.  She  maintained  that  the  "Wicket 
de  l'Echelle  was  to  the  right.  The  third  garde,  not  knowing 
Paris  well,  yielded  to  the  Queen's  certainty,  though  he  fan- 
cied that  it  was  to  the  left. 

They  therefore  left  by  the  wicket  at  the  water's  side ;  got 
confused  on  the  quays';  crossed  the  bridge ;  walked  down 
the  Rue  du  Bac,  where  the  Queen  was  forced  to  acknow- 
ledge her  error,  as  they  had  completely  lost  their  way. 

The  garde  was  compelled  to  inquire  the  way  to  the 
Wicket  de  l'Echelle.  They  had  to  cross  the  Place  de 
Carrousel  a  second  time.  Under  the  arch,  they  found 
themselves  face  to  face  with  some  lacqueys,  carrying 
torches,  and  escorting  a  carriage  which  was  approaching  at 
a  trot.  The  Queen  had  just  time  to  turn  her  face  to  the 
wall,  in  order  to  avoid  being  recognised. 

She  had  recognised  Lafayette. 

The  garde  came  to  the  front,  in  order  to  the  more  effec- 
tuall}'  screen  her. 

But  she  struck  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  with  the  little 
cane  that  ladies  carried  at  that  period,  saying,  "  Go  to, 
gaoler ! — I  am  out  of  thy  power." 

This  is  but  a  tradition  ;  the  garde  says,  on  the  contrary, 
that  the  Queen  was  so  frightened,  that  she  dropped  his  arm 
and  fled,  but^that  he  ran  after  her,  took  her  by  the  hand, 
and  drew  her  back. 

They  crossed  the  Carrousel  at  full  speed,  passed  the 
Wicket  de  l'Echelle,  and  at  last  saw  the  carriage  which 
was  awaiting  them. 

M.  de  Fersen  assisted  the  Queen  into  the  vehicle,  and  she 
sank  into  her  seat  by  the  side  of  the  King,  trembling  with 
fear. 

M.  de  Eersen  had  stopped  a  voiture,  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  the  three  gardes  du  corps. 

They  jumped  into  it,  telling  the  driver  to  follow  the 
other  vehicle. 

M.  de  Fersen,  who  knew  not  Paris  much  better  than  the 
garde  du  corps,  who  had  followed  the  Queen,  fearing  to  get 
lost  in  the  streets,  went  to  Faubourg  St.  Honore,  along  the 
'ength  of  the  Tuileries. 

Thence,  he  soon  found  his  way  to  the  barriere  of  Clichy. 

A  few  paces  before  the  house  of  Mr.  Crawford,  the  gardes 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  159 

du  corps  got  down,  paid  and  dismissed  their  vehicle,  and 
took  their  places  behind  the  other. 

The  travelling  berlin  was  ready  when  they  arrived. 

The  change  was  effected. 

M.  de  Fersen  overturned  his  carriage  in  a  ditch,  then 
mounted  on  the  box  of  the  berlin.  One  of  his  men 
mounted  a  horse,  and  conducted  them  to  Daumont. 

They  took  at  least  an  hour  to  arrive  at  Bondy. 

All  progressed  capitally. 

At  Bondy,  they  found  the  two  femmes-de-chambre,  who 
were  to  have  awaited  them  at  Claye. 

It  appeared  that  they  came  in  a  cabriolet,  expecting  to 
find  at  Bondy  a  post-chaise  ;  but  there  were  none,  so  they 
had  struck  a  bargain  with  the  postmaster  for  a  cabriolet, 
the  price  of  which  was  a  thousand  francs. 

The  driver  of  the  other  cabriolet  was  brushing  down  his 
horse  previously  to  returning  to  Paris. 

At  this  place,  M.  de  Fersen  was  to  leave  their  Majesties. 

He  kissed  the  King's  hand,  in  order  that  he  might  be 
able  to  kiss  the  Queen's. 

M.  de  Fersen  would  rejoin  them  in  Austria. 

He  returned  to  Paris,  to  acquaint  himself  with  what  was 
going  on  ;  he  would  then  start  for  Brussels. 

Man  proposes,  God  disposes. 

The  Queen,  two  years  later,  was  executed  in  the  Place  de 
la  Revolution  ;  and  M.  de  Fersen  perished  at  Stockholm, 
where  he  was  slain  in  a  riot,  stricken  to  death  by  blows 
from  umbrellas,  administered  by  drunken  women. 

But,  mercifully,  the  future  was  not  known  to  them. 
They  parted  full  of  hope. 

M.  de  Valory  borrowed  a  post-horse,  and  galloped  on  in 
advance,  to  command  the  relays. 

M.  de  Maiden  and  De  Moustier  took  their  seats  on  the 
box  of  the  berlin,  which  set  off  at  the  full  speed  of  which 
six  vigorous  horses  were  capable. 

The  cabriolet  came  on  in  the  rear. 

M.  de  Fersen  followed  with  his  eyes  the  carriage,  rapidly 
disappearing  in  the  distance  ;  and  when  it  had  entirely  dis- 
appeared, he  got  into  his  own  carriage,  and  returned  to 
Paris. 

He  had  on  his  costume  as  coachman  ;  and  much  did  it 
astonish  the  driver  of  the  cabriolet  to  see  a  coachman  kiss- 
ing the  hands  of  the  Kiug,  disguised  as  a  domestic. 


160  LOVE     AXD     LIBERTY. 

It  is  true  that  M.  de  Fersen  had  only  kissed  the  King's 
hands  in  order  to  be  able  to  go  through  the  same  ceremony 
with  regard  to  the  Queen. 

That  was  another  imprudence  added  to  those  which  we 
have  already  mentioned. 

All  went  well  as  far  as  Montmirail,  where  the  traces  of 
the  royal  carriage  snapped  asunder. 

It  was  necessary  to  stop.  They  thus  lost  two  hours — the 
daj's  were  long  ;  the  night  of  the  20th  of  June  is  the  short- 
est in  the  year. 

Then  they  came  to  a  hill.  The  King  insisted  on  their 
walking  up  ;  thus  they  lost  another  half-hour. 

Half-past  four  sounded  from  the  cathedral  as  the  berlin 
entered  Chalons,  and  stopped  at  the  post-house,  then  situ- 
ated at  the  end  of  the  Rue  St.  Jacques. 

M.  de  Vallory  approached  the  carriage. 

"  All  goes  well,  Francis,"  said  the  Queen  to  him.  "  It 
seems  to  me  that,  if  there  had  been  an  intention  of  stop- 
ping us,  it  would  have  been  put  into  execution  before  now." 

In  speaking  to  M.  de  Valory,  the  Queen  disclosed  her 
countenance. 

The  King  likewise  imprudently  showed  himself. 

The  postmaster,  Oudes,  recognized  him  ;  one  of  the  spec- 
tators, whom  curiosity  had  drawn  to  the  spot,  at  once  knew 
that  it  was  the  King. 

The  postmaster  saw  the  above-mentioned  spectator  dis- 
appear, and  consequent!}"  feared  some  evil  to  the  King. 

"  Sire,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  "  for  heaven's  sake  do  not 
expose  yourself,  or  you  are  lost !  "  Then,  speaking  to  the 
postilions,  "  How  now,  idlers  ! "  cried  he.  "  Is  this  the 
way  that  you  treat  well-to-do  travellers  who  pay  thirty 
sous  ?  " 

And  he  himself,  to  set  an  example  to  the  postilions,  put 
his  shoulder  to  the  work. 

The  horses  were  put  to,  and  the  carriage  was  in  readiness 
speedily. 

"  Off  you  go  !  "  cried  the  postmaster. 

The  first  postilion  wished  to  raise  his  horses  into  a  gal- 
lop. They  both  fell,  but  gained  their  feet  again  on  the  ap- 
plication of  the  whip.  The}7  wished  to  upset  the  carriage. 
The  two  horses  under  the  guidance  of  the  second  postilion 
fell  in  their  turn. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  161 

They  drew  the  postilion  from  under  the  horse  he  had 
heen  riding,  with  the  loss  of  one  of  his  boots. 

The  horses  picked  themselves  up,  the  postilion  regained 
his  boot,  and,  putting  it  on,  he  remounted  his  saddle. 

Off  goes  the  carriage. 

The  travelers  breathe  again. 

But  as  the  postmaster  had  warned  them  of  danger,  in 
place  of  riding  in  front,  M.  de  Valory  took' up  his  position 
by  the  side  of  the  carriage. 

The  fact  of  the  horses  having  fallen  one  after  the  other, 
without  any  apparent  reason,  seemed  to  the  Queen  a  pres- 
age of  eyil  to  come. 

As  yet,  however,  they  had  escaped  the  consequencee  of 
recognition. 

The  man  who  witnessed  the  arrival  of  the  berlin  had  ran 
to  the  Mayor's  house ;  but  that  official  was  a  Royalist. 
However,  the  witness  swore  that  he  recognised  the  King 
and  the  other  members  of  the  ro}-al  family ;  so  the  Mayor, 
driven  into  his  last  entrenchment,  was  forced  to  proceed 
forthwith  to  the  Rue  St.  Jacques  ;  but,  happily,  when  he 
arrived  there,  he  found  that  the  carriage  had  started  some 
five  minutes  before. 

Passing  through  the  gates  of  the  city,  and  noticing  the 
ardor  with  which  the  postilion  urged  on  their  steeds,  the 
Queen,  and  Madame  Elizabeth  gave  vent  each  to  the  same 
cry  :  — ''  We  are  saved  !  " 

But  at  that  very  moment  a  man,  arisen,  as  it  were,  sud- 
denly from  the  very  bosom  of  the  earth,  passed  on  horse- 
back to  the  door  of  the  carriage,  and  said,  "  Your  measures 
are  badly  taken  !     You  will  be  stopped  ! " 

It  was  never  known  who  this  man  was. 

By  good  luck,  they  were  distant  only  four  leagues  from- 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles,  where  M.  de  Choiseul  was  awaiting 
them  with  his  forty  hussars. 

Perhaps  they  should  have  sent  M.  de  Valory  to  the  rear, 
in  order  to  prevent  this. 

But  the  last  warning  had  increased  the  Queen's  terrors, 
and  she  would  not  part  with  one  of  her  defenders. 

They  incited  the  postilions  to  greater  speed. 

The  four  leagues  were  accomplished  in  an  hour. 

They  arrived  at  Pont-de-Somme-Vesles,  a  little  hamlet, 
consisting  of  two  or  three  houses.  They  pierced  with  their 
10 


162  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

eyes  the  wood  which  overshadowed  the  farm  to  the  left;  and 
the  trees  which  indicated  the  windings  of  the  river  on  the 
right,  formed,  as  it  were,  a  curtain  of  green  to  hide  the 
modest  streamlet  from  the  curious  eye,  but  still  no  De 
Choiseul,  no  De  Goguelot,  no  forty  hussars  were  to  he  seen. 

On  seeing  that  the  place  was  desolate,  the  Queen  uttered 
the  words  "  We  are  lost !  " 

In  the  meantime,  let  us  explain  why  the  hussars  were  not 
at  their  post. 

At  eleven  o'clock  M.  de  Choiseul,  still  accompanied  by 
Leonard,  in  tears,  who  knew  not  where  they  were  taking 
him,  and  who  believed  himself  to  be  the  victim  of  some  un- 
justifiable violence,  arrived  at  Pont-de-Somme-Vesles. 

The  hussars,  as  yet,  were  not  at  their  posts;  all  around 
was  tranquil. 

He  alighted  at  the  post-house,  his  example  being  followed 
by  Leonard,  who  had  the  diamonds  still  concealed  in  his 
bosom,  and  asked  fur  a  private  chamber  in  which  to  don  his 
uniform. 

Leonard  watched  him  ;  his  cup  of  misery  was  filled  to  the 
brim. 

Now  that  M.  de  Choiseul  had,  as  he  believed,  nothing  to 
fear,  he  found  time  to  pity  him. 

"  My  dear  Leonard  !  "  said  he,  "  it  is  time  that  you  knew 
the  whole  truth." 

"  How  the  truth  ?  Do  I  not,  then,  already  know  the 
truth  ?  " 

"  You  know  a  portion.  It  is  now  my  duty  to  tell  you  the 
rest.  You  are  devoted  to  your  customers,  are  you  not,  my 
dear  Leonard  ?  " 

"  In  life  and  death,  M.  le  Comte-." 

"Well,  in  two  hours  they  will  be  here — in  two  hours  they 
will  be  saved." 

The  hot  tears  coursed  down  poor  Leonard's  cheeks,  but 
this  time  they  were  tears  of  joy. 

"  In  two  hours  ?  "  cried  he,  at  last.  "  Are  you  sure  of 
it  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  they  were  to  have  left  the  Tuileries  at  eleven  or 
half-past,  in  the  evening  ;  they  were  to  arrive  at  Chalons  at 
mid-da}' ;  and  an  hour,  or,  at  most,  an  hour  and  a-half,  is 
sufficient  to  cover  the  four  leagues  from  Chalons  to  this 
place.     They  will  be  here  in  an  hour  at  the  latest.     I  am 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  163 

awaiting  a  detachment  of  hussars,  which  should  arrive  here 
under  the  command  of  M.  Goguelot." 

Hearing  a  rumbling  sound,  M.  de  Choiseul  put  his  head 
out  of  the  window. 

"  Ah,  there  they  are,  coming  from  the  direction  of  Cil- 
loy !  " 

And,  in  fact,  the  hussars  were,  at  the  moment,  on  the 
point  of  entering  the  village. 

"  Come  on  ! — all  is  well !  "  said  M.  de  Choiseul. 

And  he  waved  his  hat,  making  signs  out  of  the  window. 

A  horseman  approached  at  a  gallop. 

M.  de  Choiseul  went  down  stairs  to  meet  him. 

The  two  gentlemen  met  in  the  high  road. 

The  horseman,  who  was  M.  Goguelot,  gave  M.  de  Choiseul 
a  packet  from  M.  de  Bouillu.  This  packet  contained  six 
blank  signatures,  and  a  copy  of  the  order  which  had  been 
given  by  the  King  to  every  officer  of  the  arm}'  whatsoever 
his  grade,  commanding  them  in  all  things  to  obey  M.  de 
Choiseul. 

The  hussars  rode  up.  M.  de  Choiseul  ordered  them  to 
picket  their  horses,  and  caused  rations  of  bread  and  wTine  to 
be  served  out  to  them. 

The  news  which  M.  Goguelot  brought  was  bad.  All 
along  his  route,  everybody  had  been  in  a  state  of  expectation. 
The  reports  of  the  King's  flight,  which  had  been  dissemi- 
nated about  for  more  than  a  year,  had  spread  from  Paris 
to  the  provinces  ;  and  the  sight  of  the  different  bodies  of 
men  arriving  at  Dun,  Varennes,  Clermont,  and  St.  Mene- 
hould,  had  awakened  suspicion.  The  tocsin  had  been  sound- 
ed in  a  village  by  the  side  of  the  road. 

M.  de  Choiseul  had  ordered  dinner  for  M.  de  Goguelot 
and  himself. 

The  two  young  men  drew  up  to  the  table,  leaving  the  de- 
tachment under  the  command  of  M.  de  Boudet. 

At  the  expiration  of  half  an  hour,  M.  de  Choiseul  fan- 
cied that  he  heard  a  noise  outside  the  door. 

He  went  out. 

The  peasants  from  the  neighboring  villages  had  begun  to 
crowd  round  the  soldiers. 

Whence  came  these  peasants,  in  a  country  which  was  al- 
most a  desert  ? 

It  was  surmised  that  some  days  before  the  inhabitants  of 


164  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

a  tract  of  land,  near  Pont-de-Somme-Vesles,  belonging  to 
Madame  d'Eblceuf,  had  refused  the  payment  of  irredeemable 
rights,  on  the  strength  of  which  they  had  been  threatened 
■with  military  law. 

But  the  federation  of  1790  had  made  France  one  great 
family  ;  and  the  peasants  of  the  villages  had  promised  the 
tenants  of  Madame  d'Elbceuf  to  use  their  arms  if  any 
soldiers  showed  themselves  in  the  vicinity. 

As  we  know,  forty  had  arrived. 

On  seeing  them  Madame  d'Elbceuf's  tenants  believed 
that  they  had  come  with  hostile  intentions  against  them  ; 
so  they  sent  messages  to  all  the  neighboring  villages,  im- 
ploring them  to  keep  their  promise. 

Those  situate  nearest  arrived  first,  and  that  is  bowr  M.  de 
Choiseul,  on  arising  from  table,  found  a  turbulent  throng 
of  peasants  surrounding  the  hussars. 

He  believed  that  curiosity  alone  had  drawn  them  thither, 
and,  without  paying  any  further  attention  to  them,  gained 
the  most  elevated  part  of  the  road,  which  runs  in  a  straight 
line  through  the  plain  of  Chalons  to  St.  Menehould. 

A  little  further  on  than  could  be  seen  with  the  naked  eye 
was  the  village  itself. 

An  hour  slipped  awa}\ 

Two  hours,  three  hours,  four  hours,  followed  in  the  track 
of  the  first. 

The  fugitives  ought  to  have  arrived  in  one  hour  at 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles  ;  and  the  time  they  had  lost  on  the 
road  made  it  half-past  four,  as  we  have  said,  before  they 
arrived  at  Chalons. 

M.  de  Choiseul  was  anxious. 

Leonard  was  in  despair. 

About  three  o'clock,  the  numbers  of  peasants  increased  ; 
their  intentions  became  more  hostile,  and  the  tocsin  began 
to  sound. 

The  hussars  were,  perhaps,  more  unpopular  than  any 
other  corps  in  the  army,  on  account  of  their  supposed  plun- 
dering propensities.  The  peasants  provoked  them  by  all 
sorts  of  insults  and  menaces,  and  sang  under  their  very 
noses — 

"  Tbe  hussars  are  forlorn, 
And  We  lausrh  thotu  to  scorn." 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  165 

Presently  better  informed  people  came  up,  and  spread  a 
report  that  the  hussars  had  conie,  not  to  injure  Madame 
d'Elbceuf  s  tenants,  but  to  escort  the  King  and  Queen. 

This   was  also  a  very  serious  matter. 

At  about  half-past  four,  M.  de  Choiseul  and  his  hussars 
were  so  completely  hemmed  in,  that  the  three  officers  coun- 
selled together  as  to  what  was  best  to  be  done. 

They  agreed  unanimously  that  it  was  impossible  that 
they  could  Imld  out  much  longer. 

The  number  of  peasants  was  augmented  to  about  three 
hundred,  many  of  whom  were  armed. 

If,  by  ill  luck,  the  King  and  Queen  arrived  at  this  criti- 
cal juncture,  fort}-  men,  supposing  that  each  killed  his 
adversary,  would  be  insufficient  to  protect  them. 

M.  de  Choiseul  re-read  his  orders  : — 

"  Manage  in  such  a  manner  that  the  King's  carriage  shall 
continue  its  progress  without  interruption." 

But  his  presence  and  that  of  the  forty  men  became  an 
obstacle  instead  of  a  support. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Their  best  plan  was  to 
depart. 

But  a  pretext  must  be  found. 

M.  de  Choiseul,  in  the  midst  of  some  five  or  six  hundred 
gaping  peasants  who  surrounded  him,  summoned  the  post- 
master. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  "we  are  here  for  the  purpose  of 
escorting  a  treasure,  but  this  treasure  does  not  arrive.  Do 
you  know  if  any  gold  has  been  this  last  day  or  so  to 
Metz  ?  " 

"  This  morning,"  replied  the  postmaster,  "  the  diligence 
brought  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  and  was  escorted  by 
two  gendarmes." 

If  the  postmaster  had  been  prompted,  he  could  not  have 
spoken  better. 

"  It  was  Robin  and  me  who  escorted  it,"  cried  a  gen- 
darme, hidden  among  the  crowd. 

Then  M.  de  Choiseul,  turning  to  M.  Goguelot,  said, 
"  Monsieur,  the  Ministry  have  preferred  the  ordinary  mode 
of  carriage.  As  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  have  passed 
through  here  this  morning,  our  further  presence  here  is  un- 
necessary. Trumpeter,  sound  boot  and  saddle,  and  we  will 
be  off." 

The  trumpeter  obeyed. 


186  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

In  a  second,  the  hussars,  who  wished  nothing  hetter  than 
to  be  off,  were  mounted. 

'•'  Gentlemen  of  the  hussars,  march.  Form  by  fours,  and 
proceed  at  a  foot  pace." 

And  he  and  his  forty  men  left  Pont-de-Somme-Vesles  at 
five  punctually  by  his  watch. 

The  detachment  was  to  have  fallen  upon  Varennes.  He 
took  the  by-road  in  order  to  avoid  St.  Menehould,  but  lost 
his  way  above  Mofficourt. 

The  little  troop  hesitated  for  a  moment,  when  a  horse- 
man coming  from  Neuville  saw  the  perplexity  of  M.  de 
Choiseul,  and  finding  that  he  was  a  Royalist  and  a  gentle- 
man, asked  if  he  could  be  of  an}'-  assistance  to  him. 

"  Indeed  you  can,"  replied  M.  de  Choiseul.  "  You  can 
conduct  us  to  Varennes  by  the  Chalade." 

"  Follow  me,  then,"  cried  the  gentleman. 

And  he  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  hussars. 

This  gentleman  was  no  other  than  M.  de  Malmy,  and 
that  is  how  it  was  that  I  met  him  on  the  Place  Latry, 
between  two  officers  whom  I  knew  not — namely,  M.  de 
Choiseul  and  M.  Goguelot. 


<  » ■ »  > 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

STILL    IN    FLIGHT. 

There  was  therefore,  no  escort  awaiting  the  King  at 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles  when  he  arrived  there. 

But  if  there  was  no  escort,  there  were  likewise  no  peas- 
ants. The  road  was  clear ;  the  King  therefore  changed 
horses  without  an  obstacle,  and  started  for  St.  Menehould. 

At  St.  Menehould,  M.  Dandoins  awaited  the  King's 
arrival  with  as  much  impatience  as  M.  de  Choiseul  and 
M.  Goguelot  had;  and  about  midday  he  set  out  with  his 
lieutenant  on  the  road  to  Chalons,  in  the  hopes  of  seeing 
some  sign  of  his  arrival. 

This  road  is  one  long  descent  from  St.  Menehould  to 
Chfilons.  They  cast  their  eyes  for  a  length  of  two  leagues 
on  a  straight  line,  traced,  as  it  were,  by  a  pencil,  between 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  167 

two  rows  of  trees,  with  uncultivated  green  patches  of 
country  around  them. 

Nothing  was  visible  on  the  road. 

M.  Dandoins  and  his  lieutenant  returned  to  St.  Mene- 
hould. 

Two  hours  afterward  they  again  strolled  along  that  same 
road. 

To  get  to  the  barracks  situated  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Faubourg  Fleurion,  it  was  necessary  to  pass  right  through 
the  town. 

They  returned,  as  on  the  former  occasion,  without  having 
seen  anything. 

These  in-comings  and  out-goings  excited  the  attention 
of  a  population  already  alarmed.  They  perceived  that  the 
two  officers  had  the  appearance  of  being  restless  and 
uneasy. 

To  the  queries  put  them  on  the  subject,  they  replied  that 
they  were  awaiting  a  treasure  which  apparently  was  delay- 
ed, and  that  this  delay  gave  rise  to  uneasiness. 

About  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  a  courier,  dressed  in 
a  chamois-leather  vest,  arrived,  drew  up  at  the  post-house, 
and  commanded  horses  for  two  carriages. 

The  postmaster  was  Jean  Baptiste  Drouet. 

M.  de  Dandoins  approached  M.  de  Yalory. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  "you  are  preceding 
the  King's  carriage,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  the  courier  ;  "  and  let  me  add, 
that  I  am  astonished  to  see  you  and  your  men  in  police- 
men's hats." 

"  We  did  not  know  the  exact  hour  of  the  King's  arrival. 
Our  presence  annoys  the  people  ;  demonstrations  of  the 
most  menacing  character  with  regard  to  us  have  been  made, 
and  they  have  tried  to  entice  away  my  men." 

"Silence,"  said  M.  de  Valory ;  "  they  hear  what  we  are 
saying.  Rejoin  your  men,  sir,  and  try  to  keep  them  to 
their  duty." 

MM,  de  Yalory  and  de  Dandoins  then  separated. 

At  the  same  moment  the  crackings  of  a  whip  were 
heard,  and  the  two  carriages  crossed  the  Place  de  l'Hotel 
de  Yille. 

They  drew  up  in  front  of  the  post-house. 

One  can  easily  recognise  the  house,  then  built  about 
three  years,  and  which  bears  upon  its  face  the  date  1788. 


168  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

Scarcely  had  the  carriage  stopped,  when  crowds  of  people 
surrounded  them. 

One  of  the  lookers-on  ashed  M.  Maiden,  who  was 
descending  from  the  box,  "Who  are  the  travellers  who 
journe}'  in  this  style  ?  " 

"  Madame  the  Baronne  de  Korff,"  replied  de  Maiden. 

"What!  another  of  the  exiles  who  are  sucking  at  the 
vitals  of  France  ? "  murmured  the  spectator,  discontent- 
edly. 

"  No ;  this  lady  is  a  Russian,  and,  consequently,  a 
stranger." 

During  this,  M.  de  Dandoins,  his  policeman's  hat  in  his 
hand,  approached  the  carriage-door,  before  which  he  stood, 
respectfully. 

"  Sir  officer,"  said  the  King,  "how  is  it  that  I  found  no 
one  at  Ponfe-de-Somme-Vesles  ?" 

"I  was  asking  myself,  sire,  how  it  was  that  you  arrived 
without  escort." 

The  sight  of  a  commander  of  dragoons  talking  with  the 
deepest  respect  to  a  sort  of  valet  de  chambre,  seated  in  the 
front  seat  of  the  carriage,  redoubled  the  astonishment  of 
the  people,  and  began  to  change  that  astonishment  rapidly 
into  suspicion. 

Still,  the  King  took  no  precaution  to  hide  himself. 

At  this  moment,  M.  Drouet  came  out  from  the  door  of 
his  house,  and  seeing  the  man  who  was  tnlking  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  dragoons,  he  cried,  "  Just  heavens — the 
King!-" 

He  had  much  the  same  expression  of  face  as  he  had  at 
the  federation,  and  his  general  appearance  was  such  that 
he  was  not  easily  disguised. 

A  municipal  officer  was  there;  his  name  was  Farcy. 

Drouet  touched  him  on  the  elbow. 

"  Do  you  recognize  that  man  ?  "  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
King. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other.     "  It  is  the  King." 

"  Call  together  the  municipal  council." 

Then,  running  to  the  door  of  the  house,  "  Guillaume, 
Guillaume  !  "  he  cried. 

Guillaume,  who  was  within,  ran  out  to  him.  Drouet 
pointed  out  to  him  the  King. 

"  That  is  he  whom  we  have  been  expecting,"  said  he. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  169 

Meanwhile  M.  Farcy  had  run  to  the  municipality,  and 
there  made  his  report. 

Drouet  followed  after  him,  and  likewise  entered  the  muni- 
cipal council  chamber. 

Scarcely  had  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  than 
the  carriages,  which  had  been  relayed  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  started  off  at  a  sharp  trot. 

A  somewhat  strange  event  accompanied  their  departure. 

Behind  the  carriage  a  sous-officer  of  dragoons,  whom  we 
have  seen  speaking  to  the  King,  notwithstanding  his 
inferior  rank,  pushed  on  at  a  gallop,  firing,  as  he  did  so,  a 
pistol  in  the  air. 

Without  doubt,  it  was  a  signal ;  but  the  citizens  took  ifc 
as  a  sign  for  hostilities,  especially  as,  on  hearing  it,  the 
dragoons  rushed  to  their  horses. 

At  this  pistol-shot,  cries  were  heard.  A  man  who  was 
threshing  in  a  barn  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road,  a 
little  above  the  small  bridge  thrown  over  the  Aisne,  left 
the  barn,  and  tried  to  stop  the  sous-officer  with  his  flail. 

The  officer  drew  his  sabre,  cut  the  flail  in  half,  and 
passed  on. 

During  this  time  the  municipal  council  had  decided  that 
some  one  should  run  after  the  royal  carriages,  and  stop 
them. 

"  But  who  will  do  it  ?  "  asked  the  Mayor. 

"I  will,"  replied  M.  Drouet. 

Other  young  men  offered  to  accompany  him  ;  but  he  had 
not  at  the  post-house  more  than  one  horse  of  his  own,  with 
the  exception  of  a  little  pony,  which  was  for  his  friend 
Guillaume,  on  which  he  could  count  as  well  as  he  could  on 
himself.  Two  other  citizens  seized  horses,  and  determin- 
ing not  to  leave  them,  set  out  with  them,  or,  at  least, 
behind  them. 

They  started,  amid  shouts  of  encoiiragement  from  the 
whole  town. 

Two  hours  after,  the  two  citizens  returned  on  their 
paltry  hacks.  They  had  not  been  able  to  keep  up  the 
pace. 

But  M.  Jean  Baptiste  Drouet,  bearer  of  A  Warrant 
from  the  Municipality  to  arrest  the  King,  and  Citizen 
Guillaume,  continued  the  chase. 

I  underline  the  warrant  given  by  the  municipality  for 


170  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

the  arrest  of  the  King,  hecause  T  have  never  seen  mention 
made  of  it  by  any  historian,  and  because,  having  seen  the 
warrant  in  M.  Drouet's  hand,  I  can  speak  positively  with 
regard  to  the  existence  of  the  paper. 

I  wish  you  to  understand  why  1  lay  so  much  stress  on 
the  fact  of  the  existence  of  a  warrant.  It  is  because  M. 
Jean  Baptiste  Drouet,  sent  by  the  municipality  of  St. 
Mehehould  to  arrest  the  King  and  the  royal  family,  is  not 
the  isolated  fanatic,  obeying  a  regicidal  impulse,  as  the 
Royalist  journals  and  histories  would  have  it,  but  a  citizen 
of  unblemished  character,  who  fulfilled  but  his  duty  in 
obeying  the  commands  of  the  magistrates  of  his  country. 

But  to  return  to  our  tale. 

The  royal  carriage  started,  and  MM.  Drouet  and  Guil- 
laume  in  pursuit.  M.  Dandoins  ordered  his  dragoons  to 
mount,  and  follow. 

But  the  order  was  more  easily  given  than  executed. 

The  pistol-shot  fired  bj-  the  sous-officer  had  found  an 
echo  in  the  hearts — or,  rather,  the  imaginations  of — of 
those  who  heard  it.  The  National  Guard  armed  themselves 
with  their  douhle-harrelled  guns.  A  tumultuous  and  noisy 
mob  gathered  in  front  of  the  post-house — that  is  to  say,  on 
the  very  road  that  the  dragoons  would  be  obliged  to  follow, 
in  order  to  come  up  with  the  royal  carriages. 

M.  Dandoins  was  al  out  to  spring  into  his  saddle,  when 
the  municipal  council  commanded  him  to  surrender  on  the 
spot  at  the  Hotel  de  Yille. 

He  did  so,  and  was  then  ordered  to  give  his  name  and  to 
show  his  orders. 

"  I  am  named  Dandoins,"  replied  he.  "  I  am  a  Chevalier 
of  St.  Louis,  a  captain  in  the  1st  Regiment  of  Dragoon 
Guards,  and  there  are  the  orders  which  I  have  received." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  placed  on  the  table  the 
following  order : — 

"  On  behalf  of  the  King,  T,  Franqois  Claude  Amour  de 
Bouille,  lieutenant-general  of  the  King's  armies,  &c.  The 
captain  of  the  1st  Regiment  of  Dragoons  is  ordered  to 
march,  with  forty  men  of  his  regiment,  on  the  19th,  from 
Clermont  to  St.  Menehould,  where,  on  the  20th  and  21st, 
he  will  await  a  convoj'  of  money,  which  will  be  escorted  by 
a  detachment  of  the  6th  Regiment  of  Hussars  from  Pont- 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  171 

de-Somme-Vesles,  on  the  Chalons  road.  The  dragoons  and 
their  horses  will  he  lodged  equally  among  the  hotel-keepers. 
The  captain  will  be  reimbursed  for  all  expenses  incurred  for 
the  provender  for  the  horses,  and  each  dragoon  will  receive 
increased  pay  in  place  of  his  rations. 

"  De  Eouille. 
"  Metz,  14th  June,  1791." 

At  this  moment  the  cries  of  the  people  mounted  to  the 
chamber  in  which  the  council  were  assembled,  interrogating 
M.  Dandoins.  These  cries  demanded  that  the  dragoons 
should  be  disarmed. 

"  You  hear,  captain  ?  "  said  the  Mayor.  "  It  is  needful, 
in  order  to  tranquillize  the  people,  that  your  men  lay  down 
their  arms.     Go  down,  and  order  them  to  do  so."      • 

"  I  will  do  so,  if  you  will  give  me  a  written  authority," 
replied  M.  Dandoins. 

The  order  was  given,  and  at  the  command  of 
M.  Dandoins  the  arms  of  the  dragoons,  and  the  accoutre- 
ments of  the  horses,  were  carried  into  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

At  the  moment  M.  Dandoins  and  his  lieutenant  M.  La 
Cour,  reappeared  at  the  door  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  opening 
on  the  Place,  the  exasperation  of  the  multitude  reached  a 
culminating  point.  Every  voice  cried,  "He  is  a  traitor! 
He  knew  all !     He  has  imposed  upon  the  municipality  ! " 

The}T  conducted  the  two  officers  to  the  town  prison. 

Let  us  now  follow  the  royal  carriages,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  MM.  Gillaume  and  Drouet,  their  pursuers. 

They  had  seen  them  start  at  full  gallop  by  the  Clermont 
route. 

At  eight  o'clock  a  courier  arrived  from  M.  de  Choiseul. 

This  courier  was  poor  Leonard,  with  his  cabriolet. 

He  came  to  tell  M.  Damas  that  he  had  left  ftl.  de 
Choiseul  at  Pont-de-Somme-Vesles,  at  hall-past  four,  and 
that  up  to  that  time  no  courier  had  arrived. 

Leonard  told  him  also  the  danger  that  M.  Gorguelot, 
M.  Boudet,  and  their  forty  hussars,  bad  incurred. 

M.  Damas  ran  no  less  risk.  The  same  excitement  pre- 
vailed everywhere.  The  sight  of  his  soldiers  had  provoked 
murmurs.  The  hour  for  retreat  approached,  and  he  knew 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  keep  the  men  under  arms,  and 
the  horses  saddled,  dining  the  whole  night,  so  manifest  had 
the  hostile  demonstrations  become. 


172  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

In  this  interval  the  cracking  of  postilions'  whips  an- 
nounced from  afar  the  arrival  of  the  carria_   s. 

Bf.  Bouille'a  orders  were  to  mount  half  an  hour  after  the 
passage  of  the  carriages,  and  to  fall  back  upon  Montmedy, 
in  passing  by  Varennes. 

M.  de  Damas  rushed  to  the  door,  told  the  King  what 
orders  he  had  received  from  de  Bouille.  and  asked  him  what 
his  orders  were. 

••  Let  the  carriages  pass  without  making  any  remark,'' 
replied  the  King.  u  and  follow  with  your  drago*  :.-.'" 

During  this  time,  incredible  as  it  may  appear,  a  discus- 
sion aro?e  between  the  person  charged  with  the  payment  of 
the  postillion  and  the  postmaster. 

It  is  a  double  post  from  St.  Menehould  to  Yarennes. 
They  did  not  wish  to  pay  more  than  single.  Ten  minutes 
were  lost  in  this  squabble,  which  estranged  the  people,  who 
were  helping. 

At  last,  the  carriages  set  off. 

They  could  have  been  half  a  league  distant  when  Drouet 
arrived. 

Above  Islettes.  he  and  Guillaume  separated,  Guillaume 
took  the  short  cut  by  the  wood,  and  thus  gained  a  league  ; 
while  Drouet  followed  the  road,  striving  to  arrive  at 
Clermont  before  the  King:  0r.  if  he  could  not  succeed  in 
that,  at  any  rate  to  catch  him  up  at  Yarennes. 

On  the  other  hand,  thanks  to  the  advantage  which  the 
short  cut  gave  him,  Guillaume  was  sure  tu  arrive  at 
\  arennes  before  the  King. 

If  the  King  took  the  Chalons  route,  Drouet  would  arrive 
at  Yerdun  before  him. 

Drouet  arrived  at  Chalons,  not  in  time  to  arrest  the 
King,  but  in  time  to  prevent  the  dragoons  from  following 
him. 

1£  de  Damas's  dragoons  were  on  horseback.  M.  de 
Damas  ordered  them  to  march  four  deep,  with  their  swords 
drawn  in  their  hand  ;  but  they  stood  motionless,  thrusting 
their  swords  into  their  scabbards. 

At  this  moment,  the  municipal  officers  appeared.  They 
commanded  Bt  de  Damas  to  order  his  men  back  to  their 
barracks,  as  the  hour  for  retreat  had  passed  away. 

During  this  time,  Drouet  had  changed  his  horse  and 
started  off  at  a  gallop. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  170 

ML  de  Damas.  who  had  not  yet  lost  all  hope  of  taking  off 
his  men,  doubted  to  what  end  M.  Drouet  had  set  off.  He 
called  a  d  ry  he  knew  that  he  could 

depend;  ordered  him  to  catch   up  Dronei  ;   -         i.im  from 
following  that  road  :  and.  if  he  resisted  to  slay  him. 

The  name  of  the  dragoon  was  Legache. 

Without  making  any  objection,  with  the  passive  obe- 
dience of  a  soldier — perhaps  with  the  warm  devotion  of  a 
Royalist, — he  darted  off  in  pursuit  of  Drouet. 

Scarcely  had  he  started,  when,  as  you  have  already  been 
told,  the  council  commanded  M.  de  Damas  to  withdraw  his 
men  into  barracks. 

But  instead  of  obeying,  like  M.  Dandoins.  M.  de  Damas 
drew  his  sword,  struck  his  spurs  into  the  belly  of  his  horse, 
dashed  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  and  cried,  "  All  who 
love  me,  follow  !  " 

Three  men  alone  replied  to  this  appeal,  and  dashed  after 
M.  I  'ainas.  at  a  gallop,  down  the  hill  of  Clermont. 

Drouet  was  three-quarters  of  a  league  in  advance  of  them, 
but  he  was  pursued  by  a  brave,  determined,  and  well- 
mounted  man. 

Only   on   leaving    Clermont    the    road   splits — one    part 
_r  to  Verdun,  the  other  to  Yarennes. 

It  was  not  probable  that  the  King  would  go  to  Yaren- 
nes.  where  he  had  no  relays  ;  if  that  route  had  been  indi- 
cated, it  was  simply  to  throw  pursuers  off  the  scent. 

Anyhow.  Guillaume  would  be  at  Yarennes  ;  and  as  he 
was  a  native  of  that  place,  he  would  have  plenty  of  influ- 
ence. 

Drouet  galloped,  therefore,  along  the  road  to  Yerdun. 

Scarcely  had  he  gone  two  hundred  yards,  when  he  met  a 
postilion,  who  was  leading  some  lurses. 

••  Have  you  seen  a  large  berlin  and  a  cabriolet  going 
past,  one  with  six  horses  and  the  other  with  three  '!  '' 

••  No,  31.  Drouet,"  replied  the  postilion. 

The  King  had  therefore  gone  to  Yarennes. 

Drouet  got  on  the  road  to  Yarennes  by  cutting  across 
the  country,  alter  having  leapt  a  ditch. 

This  error,  in  all  probability,  saved  him. 

The  dragoon.  Lagache — who  knew  that  the  King  had 
gone  to  Yarennes,  and  not  to  Yerdun.  and  who  saw  Drouet 
take  the  road  to  Yerdun, — did  not  think  it  v>ortk  while  to 


174  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

pursue  him  much  longer;  and  -when  lie  saw  him  change 
his  route,  it  was  too  late — he  was  a  good  half-hour  in 
advance  of  him. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this,  the  King,  continuing  his  route, 
had  left  M.  Dandoins  and  his  dragoons  behind  him,  at  St. 
Menehould,  and  M.  de  Damas  and  his  at  Clermont. 

The  one  and  the  other  ought  to  be  pushing  on  behind 
him  ;  and  in  all  probability  there  was  nothing  to  fear  in 
the  localities  through  which  he  was  now  travelling. 

This  reflection  brought  tranquillity  to  the  travellers,  who, 
between  Neuvilly  and  Varennes.  find  oblivion  in  sleep. 

We  have  seen  how  M.  Valory,  not  finding  relays  at  his 
post,  had  thought  fit  to  await  the  illustrious  travellers,  in 
order  to  consult  with  them. 

We  have  seen  the  Queen  descend  from  the  berlin,  take 
the  arm  of  M.  Valory,  and  interrogate  M.  Prefontaine. 

We  have  seen  M.  Prefontaine  advance,  trembling,  to  the 
door  of  the  King's  carriage,  answer  his  interrogatories, 
return  to  his  house,  shut  his  door,  and  afterwards  open  his 
window. 

We  have  seen  M.  Drouet  appear  like  a  phantom  from 
the  midst  of  the  shadow,  forbidding  the  postilions  to  pro- 
ceed, and  rushing  through  the  Rue  des  Keligieuses  on  to 
the  Place  de  Latr}T. 

We  have  seen  the'  royal  berlin  stopped,  and  the  occupants 
forced  to  descend,  and  accept  the  hospitality  of  M.  Sauce, 
who  ushered  into  a  chamber  on  the  first  floor  of  his  house 
the  King,  the  Queen,  Madame  Elizabeth,  Madame  de 
Tourzel,  Madame  Royale,  and  the  young  Dauphin.  The 
windows  of  this  chamber  were  separated  from  the  windows 
of  mine  by  a  passage,  some  seven  or  eight  feet  in  breadth 
only. 

We  have  also  heard  the  noise  at  the  top  of  the  Rue 
Basse  Cour,  which  was  made  by  the  arrival  of  the  forty 
hussars  of  M.  Goguelot  and  M.  de  Choiseul,  in  the  midst 
of  whom  I  recognised  M.  <de  Malm}T,  who  had,  without 
doubt,  served  as  their  guide. 

We  can,  therefore — a  light  being  thrown  on  the  past, — 
resume  the  thread  of  our  story,  without  fear  of  complica- 
tion or  confusion. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  175 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

"WHAT    HAPPENED    IN    THE    GROCER'S    LITTLE    SHOP. 

At  the  end  of  some  minutes,  during  which  they  had 
heen  parleying,  M.  Goguelot  and  M.  de  Choiseul  contrived 
to  get  admitted  to  the  King. 

M.  Sauce,  who,  after  he  had  conducted  his  guests  to  the 
chamber  in  which  they  Mere  confined,  had  descended  to 
get  the  ke}',  remounted  the  stairs,  followed  by  M.  Goguelot 
and  M.  de  CLoiseul. 

On  seeing  M.  Goguelot,  the  King  joyously  clapped  his 
hands,  for  he  was  the  only  person  that  he  knew  whom  he 
had  as  yet  seen.  He  was,  without  doubt,  the  precursor  of 
assistance. 

Behind  M.  Goguelot,  he  recognised  M.  de  Choiseul. 

Other  footsteps  were  heard  on  the  staircase — they  were 
those  of  M.  de  Damas. 

The  three  officers,  as  soon  as  they  entered,  bent  looks  of 
inquu     around  them. 

This  is  what  they  saw  on  entering,  and  what  I  saw  from 
my  window. 

A  narrow  room,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  a  cask,  which 
served  as  a  table  ;  on  that  table  was  placed  some  paper  and 
some  glasses.  In  a  corner  stood  the  King  and  Queen  ;  by 
the  window  were  Madame  Elizabeth  and  Madame  Royale  ; 
in  the  background,  the  Dauphin,  overcome  with  fatigue, 
was  sleeping  on  a  bed,  at  the  foot  of  which  was  Madame  de 
Tourzel ;  at 'the  door  were  stationed  the  two  femmes  de 
chambre — Madame  de  Xeuville  and  Madame  de  Brunier, 
acting  as  sentinels — or,  rather,  two  women  armed  with 
forks. 

The  first  word  that  the  King  uttered  was,  ""Well,  gen- 
tlemen, when  do  we  start  ?  " 

"  When  it  pleases  your  Majesty." 

"  Give  your  commands,  sire,"  said  M.  de  Choiseul.  "  I 
have  with  me  forty  hussars ;  but  lose  no  time.  We  must 
act  before  the  citizens  have  an  opportunity  of  bribing  my 
men." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  descend,  and  clear  the  way ;  but 
mind,  no  violence." 


176  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

The  young  men  went  down. 

The  moment  that  M.  de  Goguelot  had  his  hand  on  the 
street  door,  the  National  Guard  summoned  the  hussars  to 
dismount. 

"  Hussars,"  cried  M.  de  Goguelot,  "  remain  in  your  sad- 
dles." 

"  Wherefore  ? "  queried  the  officer  commanding  the 
National  Guard. 

"  To  protect  the  King,"  replied  M.  de  Goguelot. 

"  Good  ! "  returned  the  officers  ;  "  we  can  take  care  of 
him  without  you." 

A  hundred  voices  at  the  same  time  cried,  "Yes,  yes, 
yes  !  Make  the  hussars  dismount !  It  is  is  our  business, 
and  not  the  business  of  strangers,  to  protect  the  King! 
Dismount,  hussars — dismount  !  " 

M.  de  Damas  slipped  through  the  crowd,  and  rejoined 
the  three  or  four  men  who  had  been  faithful  to  him. 

M.  de  Goguelot  exchanged  signals  with  M.  de  Malmy, 
and  in  company  with  M.  de  Choiseul  again  ascended  to  the 
King's  chamber.  Both  addressed  the  Queen,  as  they  knew 
that  it  was  her  head  that  planned. 

"  Madame,"  said  M.  de  Goguelot,  u  it  is  no  use  thinking 
of  proceeding  in  the  carriages ;  but  there  is  a  way  of 
safety." 

"  What  ?  " 

"Will  j'ou  mount  a  horse,  and  set  out  with  the  King? 
He  will  take  charge  of  the  Dauphin.  The  bridge  is  barri- 
caded, but  at  the  bottom  of  the  Rue  Jean  the  river  is  ford- 
able.  With  our  forty  hussars  we  will  pass.  In  any  case, 
make  a  quick  reselution.  Our  hussars  are  already  drinking 
with  the  people ;  in  another  quarter  of  an  hour  they  will 
be  brothers." 

The  Queen  drew  back ;  that  iron  heart  failed  her  at  that 
critical  moment.  She  again  became  a  woman ;  she  feared 
a  struggle,  a  skirmish — perhaps  a  bullet. 

"Speak  to  the  King,  messieurs,"  said  she;  "it  is  he 
who  should  decide  on  this  plan  ;  it  is  he  who  should  com- 
mand ;  it  is  for  me  but  to  follow." 

She  then  added,  timidly,  "  After  all,  it  cannot  be  long 
before  M.  de  Bouille  arrives. 

The  gardes  du  corps  were  there  ready  to  attempt  any- 
thing. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  177 

M.  de  Valory  said,  in  his  and  the  name  of  all  his  com- 
rades, "  Her  Majesty  knows  that  she  can  command.  AYe 
are  ready  to  die  for  her." 

M.  de  Goguelot  and  M.  de  Choiseul  chimed  in. 

"  M.  de  Damas  is  below,' '  said  M.  de  Choiseul ;  "  he  told 
us  to  tell  your  Majesty  that  he  had  but  three  or  four  dra- 
goons, but  that  he  could  count  on  their  fidelity  as  on  his 
own." 

"Let  us  set  out,  sire — let  us  set  out,  since  the  Queen 
places  herself  in  3*our  hands." 

If  the  King  replied  yes.  there  was  still  hope. 

"Messieurs,"  asked  the  King,  "canj'ou  promise  me  that 
in  the  struggle  which  must  take  place  as  a  consequence  of 
our  departure,  no  ball  will  strike  the  Queen,  my  sister,  or 
mj*  children  ?  " 

A  sigh  passed  the  lips  of  the  King's  defenders.  They 
felt  him  giving  way  in  their  hands. 

"  Let  us  reason  coolly,"  said  the  King.  "  The  municipal 
council  do  not  refuse  to  let  me  go.  The  annoyance  is,  that 
we  are  compelled  to  spend  the  night  here  ;  but  before  day- 
break, M.  de  Bouille  will  be  acquainted  with  the  situation 
in  which  we  are.  He  is  at  Stenay.  Stenay  is  but  eight 
leagues  from  here ;  two  hours  will  take  one  there,  and 
another  two  suffice  to  bring  back  a  message.  M.  de  Bouille 
cannot  fail  to  be  here  in  the  morning,  then  shall  we  depart 
■without  danger  or  violence." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  without  announcing  themselves, 
or  asking  the  permission' of  the  King  to  be  admitted,  the 
municipal  council  entered  the  room. 

The  decision  that  they  had  arrived  at  was  brief  and  pre- 
cise. 

The  people  strongly  objected  to  the  King's  continuing  his 
route,  and  had  resolved  to  send  a  courier  to  the  ^National 
Assembly  to  know  its  sentiments. 

In  fact,  a  citizen  of  Varennes,  an  M.  Maugin,  surgeon  by 
profession,  had  started  at  full  speed  for  Paris. 

M.  de  Goguelot  saw  that  there  was  not  an  instant  to  lose  ; 
he  dashed  from  the  house,  and  found  M.  de  Malmy  at  the 
door. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "you  live  here,  therefore  you 
know  this  part  of  the  country.  A  man,  come  what  will, 
must  set  out  for  Stenajr  to  advise  M.  de  Bouille  of  the  pre- 
11 


ITS  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

dioament  in  which  the  King  is  placed,  and  return  with  a 
sufficient  force  to  rescue  him." 

"  I  will  go  myself,"  said  M.  de  Malmy. 

And  sticking  his  spurs  into  his  horse,  he  set  off  at  a 
gallop. 

At  M.  Gerbaut's  door,  he  saw  a  file  of  National  Guards, 
who  commanded  him  to  stop. 

"  All  very  well,"  replied  M.  de  Malmy  ;  '•'  but  I  intend 
to  go  on." 

"  Not  you,  more  than  another  ! "  cried  an  officer,  seizing 
his  horse  by  the  bridle. 

"  If  you  advance  another  step,"  said  M.  Roland,  the 
commander  of  the  National  Guard,  cocking  a  pistol,  "  I 
will  shoot  you." 

M.  de  Malmy,  without  reply,  spurred  his  horse  right  on 
to  him. 

M.  Roland  fired  off  the  pistol  so  close  that  the  flame 
blinded  M.  de  Malmy 's  horse,  at  the  same  time  as  the  bul- 
let passed  through  the  fleshy  part  of  the  horseman's  arm. 

The  frightened  animal  reared,  and  fell  back  upon  his 
master. 

From  the  chamber  where  I  was  engaged  in  watching  the 
King,  I  heard  the  pistol-shot,  the  fall  of  the  horse  and 
man,  and  the  scream  of  a  woman. 

I  recognised  the  voice  of  Mdlle.  Sophie.  I  dashed  down 
stairs,  and  arrived  in  time  to  see  her  throw  herself  on  the 
breathless,  and,  as  she  thought,  dead  body  of  M.  de  Malmy. 

"Rene^,  Rene!"  she  cried.     "Help  me — oh,  help  me!" 

I  rushed  out  of  the  house,  took  M.  de  Malmy  in  my 
arms,  and,  at  the  moment  when  he  tried  to  stand,  I  took 
him  into  the  house,  and  laid  him  on  M.  Gerbaut's  bed. 

"  He  is  dead — he  is  dead!  They  have  killed  him,  the 
wretches!."  cried  the  unhappy  and  despairing  girl,  who  was 
covered  with  the  blood  which  had  flowed  from  his  wound. 

At  this  moment,  M.  de  Malmy  opened  his  eyes. 

"  He  is  not  dead,  Mdlle.  Sophie,"  cried  I. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  she.  , 

And  she  threw  herself  prostrate  on  the  bed. 

"  Leave  me — leave  me  ! "  said  M.  de  Malmy,  making  an 
effort  to  lift  himself  up.  "  I  must  go  and  seek  M.  de  Bou- 
ille." 

Pain  and  weakness  compelled  him  to  fall  back  again. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  179 

"In  the  name  of  heaven,  stay  there,  Alphonse  !"  cried 
Mdlle.  Sophie.  "  Do  not  move,  or  you  will  uselessly  throw 
awav  your  life.  You  owe  me  somewhat;  grant  me  that 
favor." 

"I  must,"  said  the  young  man.  "I  think  that  my  leg 
is  broken." 

"  Rene,  Rene  !  I  pray,  I  implore  you,  my  friend — my 
brother — run  for  a  surgeon  !  " 

"  Immediately  !  "  said  I,  dashing  out  into  the  street. 

But  it  was  impossible  to  move. 

The  crowd  had  become  something  fearful. 

"  Hussars !  "  cried  M.  de  Goguelot,  "  are  you  for  the 
King  or  the  nation  ?  " 

They  all  replied,  "  For  the  nation  !  " 

"  The  others  ?  " 

"  For  the  King — for  the  King  ! "  they  cried  out,  in  Ger- 
man. 

"  Do  you  hear  them  ?  "  said  M.  Drouet.  "  They  are 
strangers — they  are  Germans — that  is  to  say,  enemies." 

"  No,  sir,"  cried  the  officer ;  "  it  is  a  Frenchman,  who, 
in  good  French,  says  to  you,  "  Make  way,  in  the  name  of 
the  King  ! '  " 

"And  I  reply  to  you,  in  better  French,  if  your  hussars 
do  not  lay  down  their  arms,  we  will  fire  on  them,  and  not 
one  shall  leave  Varennes  alive.  Soldiers,  present  arms — 
and,  gunners,  to  your  pieces  !  " 

Then,  stepping  two  paces  forward,  he  said  to  M.  Gogue- 
lot, "  Take  care,  sir.     I  have  sighted  you  with  my  gun." 

"Vive  la  nation!"  cried  the  hussars,  as  they  saw  the 
musket-barrels  pointed  at  them,  with  the  matches  burning 
brightly  in  the  obscurity,  and  the  two  little  pieces  of  cannon 
placed  in  battery  at  the  bottom  of  the  Rue  St.  Jean. 

At  this  moment,  several  National  Guards  sprang  upon 
M.  Goguelot's  horse,  snatched  the  rider  from  the  saddle, 
and  dashed  him  head-foremost  into  the  road,  where  he  lay 
for  a  moment  or  so,  completely  stunned. 

They  treated  M.  Damas  and  M.  de  Choiseul,  who 
appeared  on  the  doorstep  at  that  moment,  in  the  eame 
fashion. 

In  the  midst  of  this  struggle,  I  set  out  for  the  Place 
Latry,  by  way  of  the  Rue  l'Horloge.  When  I  got  there,  I 
found  that  M.  Maugin  had  started  for  Paris,  by  wish  of 
the  municipality,  at  full  speed. 


180  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

I  ran  to  the  house  of  another  doctor  of  less  skill  than 
M.  Maugin — a  M.  Saulnier — and  brought  him  to  the  Hue  de 
la  Basse  Cour,  where  the  hussars  were  drinking  and  fra- 
ternizing with  the  National  Guard. 

M.  de  Malmy  was  wounded  in  the  shoulder  by  a  hall 
which  had  traversed  the  deltoid  muscles.  His  leg  was  not 
broken,  but  his  knee  was  badly  sprained. 

Mdlle.  Gerbaut,  who  feared  that  the  condition  of  the 
wounded  man  would  not  be  improved  by  his  remaining  on 
the  ground  floor  in  direct  communication  with  the  street, 
begged  us  to  carry  M.  de  Malmy  into  a  chamber  where  the 
surgeon  could  pay,  without  inconvenience,  all  the  cares 
necessary  to  a  man  in  his  condition. 

I  assisted  M.  Saulnier — a  sufficiently  difficult  job — to 
carry  a  man  who  could  use  neither  his  left  arm  nor  his 
right  leg.  Afterwards,  as  I  saw  that  my  presence  was  not 
welcome  to  Mdlle.  Sophie,  and  as  I  felt  no  particular  inter- 
est in  the  wounded  man,  I  retired,  so  as  not  to  lose  a  single 
scene  of  the  drama  which  was  being  played  out  before  my 
eyes,  and  which  was  nothing  less  than  a  duel  between  a 
King  and  a  nation. 


CHAPTEE  XXXI.   . 

THE  RETURN  OF  ROYALTY  IN  ARREST. 

In  the  midst  of  the  tumult  which  was  produced  by  the 
disarming  of  M.  de  Choiseul  and  M.  de  Damas,  and  the 
cries  of  "Vive  la  nation  !"  shouted  out  by  the  hussars,  to 
the  great  delight  of  the  people,  M.  de  Goguelot,  profiting 
by  a  moment  of  inattention  on  the  part  of  his  guards, 
rushed  up-stairs,  and,  all  bleeding  as  he  was,  entered  the 
chamber  of  the  King. 

His  head  had  been  cut  open  by  the  fall,  but  he  did  not 
feel  the  wound. 

The  appearance  of  the  chamber  had  changed.  It  had 
become  a  prison. 

Marie  Antoinette,  who  was  in  reality  the  strength  and 
life  of  the  family,  was  overwhelmed.  She  had  heard  the 
cries,  the  shots,  and  she  saw  M.  de  Goguelot  return  all  cov- 
ered with  blood. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  181 

The  King,  standing  upright,  prayed  M.  Sauce,  the 
grocer,  to  assist  them ;  as  if  he  had  the  power,  even  had 
he  wished  to  do  so. 

The  Queen,  seated  on  a  stool  between  two  packages  of 
candles,  likewise  implored  his  assistance. 

But  with  brutal  and  petty  selfishness,  he  replied,  "I 
should  like  to  be  able  to  serve  you,  certainly ;  but  if  you 
think  of  the  King,  I  think  of  M.  Sauce." 

The  Queen  turned  aside,  shedding  tears  of  rage. 

She  had  never  been  so  humbled  before. 

The  day  began  to  dawn. 

The  crowd  filled  the  street,  the  Place  de  la  Rue  Neuve, 
and  the  Place  Latry. 

All  the  citizens  cried  from  their  windows,  "  To  Paris — 
to  Paris — to  Paris  with  the  King  !  " 

Alas !  to  show  himself — he  was  to  appear  no  longer,  as 
on  the  6th  of  October,  on  the  balcony  of  the  marble  court, 
but  at  the  windows  of  a  grocer's  house. 

The  King  had  fallen  into  a  state  of  torpor. 

The  cries  redoubled. 

Five  or  six  people  had  seen,  or  rather  had  caught  a 
glimpse,  of  the  King ;  the  others  wished  to  inspect  him 
thoroughly. 

At  that  period,  when  it  took  a  diligence  six  or  seven 
days  to  go  to  Paris,  to  have  seen  the  King  was  a  thing  to 
talk  about.  Each  one  had  formed  an  imaginary  portrait 
of  him  for  him  or  herself. 

Therefore  the  astonishment  was  intense  when  Louis  the 
Sixteenth  showed  himself  with  swollen  eyes,  and  proved  to 
that  multitude  a  thing  which  they  did  not  before  believe — 
namely,  that  a  king  may  be  fat,  pale,  bloated — with  dull 
eyes,  hanging  lips,  a  bad  peruke,  and  a  gray  suit  of 
clothes. 

The  crowd  believed  that  they  were  being  deceived,  and 
growled  accordingly. 

Afterwards,  when  they  knew  that  it  was  the  King,  "  Oh, 
heavens  !  "  said  they.     "  Poor  man  !  " 

Pity  having  once  seized  them,  their  hearts  opened,  and 
they  began  to  shed  tears. 

''  Long  live  the  King  !  "  cried  the  crowd. 

If  Louis  XVI  had  profited  by  that  moment — if  he  had 
prayed  that  concourse  of  people  to  help  him  and  his  child- 


182  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

ren, — perhaps  they  would  have  passed  him  and  the  royal 
family  over  the  barricaded  bridge,  and  delivered  them  into 
the  hands  of  the  hussars. 

He  took  no  advantage  of  that  pity  and  sorrow. 

An  example  was  given  of  the  commiseration  which  the 
royal  family  inspired. 

Sauce  had  an  aged  mother — a  woman  of  some  eighty 
years  of  age.  She  was  born  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV, 
and  was  a  Royalist.  She  entered  the  chamber;  and  seeing 
the  King  and  Queen  bowed  down  with  sorrow,  and  the 
children  sleeping  on  the  bed,  which  had  never  been  destin- 
ed for  such  a  mournful  honor,  she  fell  on  her  knees  beside 
it,  repeated  a  prayer,  and,  turning  towards  the  Queen, 
u  Madame,"  said  she,  "  will  you  allow  me  to  kiss  the  hands 
of  the  two  innocents?" 

The  Queen  bowed  her  head,  in  token  of  assent. 

The  good  woman  kissed  their  hands,  and  left  the  room, 
sobbing,  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
'  The  Queen  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  sleep. 

The  King,  who  had  need,  whatever  his  preoccupation  of 
mind  might  be,  to  eat  and  sleep  well,  having  neither  ate 
nor  slept  to  his  satisfaction,  was  distracted. 

About  half-past  six,  M.  Deslon  was  announced. 

M.  Deslon  had  arrived  from  Dun  with  about  a  hundred 
men. 

He  had  found  the  Rue  de  l'Hospital  barricaded  ;  had 
held  a  parley;  and  demanding  admission  to  the  presence 
of  the  King,  was  accorded  permission  to  visit  him. 

He  informed  them  how,  at  the  sound  of  the  tocsin,  he 
had  hurried  on ;  and  that  M.  de  Bouille,  warned  by  his  son 
and  M.  de  Raigecourt,  would,  without  doubt,  arrive  in  a 
short  time. 

The  King,  however,  seemed  as  if  he  did  not  hear  him. 

Three  times  M.  Deslon  repeated  the  same  thing,  and 
rather  impatiently  the  last  time. 

"  Sire,"  said  he,  "  do  you  not  hear  me  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  wish,  monsieur  ?  "  said  the  King,  as  if 
starting  from  a  reverie. 

"  I  ask  your  commands  for  M.  de  Bouille,  sire  ! " 

"I  have  no  more  commands  to  give,  monsieur — I  am  a 
prisoner.'" 

"  But,  at  least,  sir—" 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  183 

"  That  he  does  what  he  can  for  me." 

M.  Deslon  retired,  without  being  able  to  obtain  another 
answer. 

In  fact,  the  King  was  indeed  a  prisoner. 

The  tocsin  had  completed  its  dismal  task.  Every  village 
had  sent  its  contingent.  Four  or  five  thousand  men 
encumbered  the  streets  of  Varennes. 

About  seven  in  the  morning,  two  men  arriving  by  the 
Clermont  road,  and  bestriding  horses  flecked  with  foam, 
pushed  their  way  through  the  multitude. 

The  shouts  of  the  people  announced  something  new  to 
the  King. 

Soon  the  door  opened,  and  admitted  an  officer  of  the  Na> 
tional  Guard. 

It  was  the  same  Rayon,  who,  whilst  snatching  a  moment's 
rest  at  Chalons,  sent  on  an  express  to  St.  Menehould. 

He  entered  the  royal  chamber  fatigued,  excited,  almost 
mad,  without  a  cravat,  and  with  his  hair  unpowdered. 

"  Ah,  sire,"  said  he,  in  a  hoarse  voice — "  our  wives,  our 
children  !  They  slaughter  them  at  Paris,  sire  ;  you  will 
not  go  much  further.     The  interest  of  the  State — " 

And  he  fell,  almost  fainting,  into  an  arm-chair. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  Queen,  taking  his  hand,  and  show- 
ing him  the  Dauphin  and  Madame  Royale  sleeping  on  the 
bed,  "  am  I  not  a  mother,  too  ?  " 

"In  short,  sir,"  said  the  King,  "  what  have  you  to  an- 
nounce to  me  ?  " 

"  Sire,  a  decree  of  the  Assembly." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  My  comrade  has  it." 

"  Your  comrade  ?  " 

The  officer  made  a  sign  to  open  the  door. 

One  of  the  gardes  du  corps  opened  it,  and  they  saw  M. 
de  Iiomeuf  leaning  against  the  window  of  the  ante-chamber, 
and  weeping. 

He  came  forward,  with  downcast  eyes. 

The  Queen  started  at  sight  of  him. 

It  was  the  same  young  man  who  had  accompanied 
M.  Lafayette  in  the  visit  he  had  paid  the  King  just  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before  he  started. 

•l  Ah,  monsieur  !  is  it  you?"  said  the  Queen.  "I  could 
never  have  believed  it." 


184  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

It  was  she  who  should  have  blushed  before  him,  and  she 
tried  to  make  him  blush. 

M.  de  Eomeuf  held  in  his  hands  the  decree  of  the  Assem- 
bly. 

The  King  snatched  it  from  him,  cast  his  eyes  over  it,  and 
cried,  "  There  is  no  longer  a  King  in  France  !  " 

The  Queen  took  it  in  her  turn,  read  it,  and  returned  it  to 
the  King. 

The  King  re-read  it,  and  then  placed  it  on  the  bed  where 
his  children  slept. 

"  No — no  !  "  cried  the  Queen,  exasperated,  furious,  mad 
with  hate  and  anger  ;  "  I  do  not  wish  that  infamous  paper 
to  defile  my  children." 

"Madame,"'  at  last  said  Romeuf,  "you  have  just  re- 
proached me  for  being  charged  with  this  mission.  Is  it 
not  better  that  I  should  have  undertaken  the  task  than  one 
who  would  have  borne  witness  with  regard  to  transports  of 
passion  ?  " 

There  was,  in  fact,  at  this  action  of  the  Queen's,  a  terri- 
ble murmur  among  the  spectators. 

The  Queen  had  crumpled  up  the  decree,  and  dashed  it  on 
the  floor. 

M.  de  Choiseul,  who  had  regained  his  liberty,  and  who, 
at  the  moment,  entered  the  chamber,  accompanied  by  two 
messengers,  picked  up  the  decree,  and  placed  it  on  the 
table. 

The  Queen  appreciated  his  intention,  and  thanked  him 
with  a  look. 

"At  least,  sir,"  said  she,  addressing  M.  de  Romeuf,  "I 
hope  that  you  will  do  all  you  can  for  M.  de  Choiseul,  M.  de 
Damas,  and  M.  de  Goguelot  when  we  are  gone." 

In  fact,  the  Queen  well  understood  that  go  she  must. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  M.  de  Bouille 
had  not  put  in  an  appearance. 

The  peasants  of  the  villages  round  Yarennes  continued 
to  pour  into  the  town,  armed  with  guns,  pitchforks,  and 
sc3'thes,  and  each  cried  louder  than  the  other,  "  To  Paris  ! 
to  Paris  !  " 

The  carriage  was  in  readiness. 

The  King  made  the  most  of  each  little  obstacle,  counting 
each  moment,  awaiting  Bouille\ 

At  last,  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  move. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  185 

The  King  rose  first. 

Tlie  Queen  followed  his  example. 

One  of  her  women — whether  naturally,  or  whether  as  an 
artifice,  to  gain  turn — fainted. 

"  They  may  cut  me  into  pieces  if  they  will,"  said  the 
Queen,  "  l»ut  1  will  not  leave  without  one  who  has  the 
misfortune  to  he  my  friend." 

"  As  you  will — stay  if  you  like,"  said  a  man  of  the 
people,   "At  any  rate,  I  will  take  the  Dauphin.'' 

He  took  the  voyal  child  in  his  arms,  and  stepped  towards 
the  door. 

The  Queen  seized  the  Dauphin  from  him,  and  descended 
the  stairs,  blushing. 

All  the  family  were  filled  with  poignant  anxiety.  On 
arriving  in  the  street.  Madame  Elizabeth  perceived  that 
half  of  the  Queen's  hair  had  turned  gray  ;  the  other  half 
was  to  grow  gray  at  the  Concier^erie  in  a  second  night  of 
agony,  which  was  not,  perhaps,  more  terrible  than  that 
which  we  have  recounted. 

They  got  into  the  carriage;  the  three  gardes  du  corps 
mounted  on  the  box. 

M.  de  Goguelot,  in  the  hope  of  bringing  succor,  had 
found  means  of  escaping  through  the  little  passage  situate 
at  the  back  of  the  house  of  M.  Sauce. 

M.  de  Choiseul  and  M.  de  Dam  as  were  conducted  to  the 
city  prison,  where  M.  de  Romeuf  caused  himself  to  be 
imprisoned  with  them,  for  the  sake  of  protecting  them 
more  efficiently. 

At  last,  after  having  exhausted  every  possible  means  of 
delay,  the  carriage  started,  escorted  h}T  the  National  Guard, 
under  the  command  of  M.  Signemont,  by  the  hussars  of 
M.  de  Choiseul,  which  had  been  sent  to  protect  his  flight, 
and  by  more  than  four  thousand  citizens  of  Varennes  and 
its  suburbs,  armed  with  guns,  pitchforks,  and  scythes. 

The  carriage  of  the  King  did  not,  as  some  historians  say, 
pass  the  house  of  the  grocer,  Sauce  ;  that  was  the  histori- 
cal limit  of  the  fatal  journej'. 

The  moment  that  the  carriage  moved,  I  felt  great  doubt 
— or,  rather,  great  remorse. 

The  catastrophe,  of  the  arrest  of  the  King  had  brought 
in  its  train  an  event  which,  though  J  have  but  mentioned 
it  in  the  place  it  occupied  relatively  to  that  arrest,  influ- 
enced in  a  strange  manner  the  whole  of  niv  life. 


186  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

One  can  readily  understand  that  I  speak  of  M.  de  Mal- 
my's  wound  ;  of  the  impression  that  that  wound  produced 
on  Mdlle.  Sophie,  and  of  the  involuntary  avowal  that,  on 
her  part,  she  had  made  to  me. 

I  had  a  deep  affection  for  Sophie.  This  affection,  more 
than  fraternal,  had  a  spice  of  jealousy  in  it;  although  I 
must  do  the  poor  girl  the  justice  to  say  that  from  the 
moment  that  she  perceived  my  nascent  love,  she  had  done 
all  she  could  to  nip  it  in  the  bud,  by  telling  me  that  she 
could  never  be  anything  more  than-  a  sister  to  me.  I 
always  had  the  suspicion — I  will  not  say  that  my  rival,  for 
there  was  no  real  rivalry,  was  M.  de  Malmy. 

This  time  I  could  no  longer  doubt  it,  and  I  felt  it  impos- 
sible to  remain  under  the  same  roof  with  him.  Not  only 
because  Sophie  loved  him  and  he  loved  Sophie,  but  because 
I  knew  that  he  was  the  origin  of  all  the  misery  and  unhap- 
piness  that  was  gradually  wearing  her  away. 

As  soon  as  I  saw  the  King  ready  to  set  out,  and  the  car- 
riage about  to  move  on  to  Paris,  I  bade  adieu  to  M.  Ger- 
baut,  without  telling  him  that  I  did  not  think  of  returning 
to  Varennes,  and  started  off  without  having  the  courage  to 
see  Sophie,  whom  however,  I  unexpectedly  found  in  my 
road,  barring  up  the  corridor. 

"  What,  Mdlle.  Sophie  !  " 

She  threw  herself,  weeping,  on  to  my  neck. 

"  Each  one  has  his  destiny,  my  good  ReneV  said  she. 
"  Mine  is  to  suffer.     I  shall  accomplish  it." 

"  Shall  I  always  be  your  brother  ?  "  asked  I,  weeping 
myself. 

"  Ah,  yes !  And  if  ever  I  have  need  of  you,  I  will  show 
you  that  I  am  your  sister,  by  coming  to  you  for  assistance." 

"Heaven  guard  jou,  Mdlle.  Sophie,"  cried  I,  withdraw- 
ing myself  from  her  embrace. 

"  And  you,  also — heaven  bless  you,  Rene  !  " 

And  I  heard  the  sobs  which  followed  these  words  even  as 
far  as  the  door  which  opened  into  the  street. 

I  took  my  place  at  the  door  of  the  King's  carriage,  mak- 
ing a  signal  to  MM.  Drouet  and  Guillaume,  who  were  on 
horseback,  with  the  intention  of  preceding  the  carriages,  in 
order  to  make  wajr  for,  and  protect  them. 

What  was  M.  de  Bouille  doing  at  this  time  ?  We  will 
tell  you  in  the  following  chapter. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  187 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

WHAT    M.    DE    BOUILLE    DID    IN-    THE    MEANTIME. 

M.  de  Bouille  was  at  Dun,  where  he  had  passed  the 
night  in  a  state  of  mortal  disquietude. 
It  was  the  advanced  post  of  his  watch. 

At  three  o'clock,  having  received  no  news,  he  proceeded  to 
Stenay. 

At  Stenay  he  was  in  the  centre  of  his  forces,  and  was 
ahle  to  act  with  greater  facility,  having  at  his  disposal  a 
great  number  of  men. 

From  four  to  five  o'clock  he  was  successively  joined  by 
M.  de  Rohrig,  M.  de  Raigeeourt,  and  by  his  son. 

He  then  knew  all. 

But  M.  de  Bouille  could  but  little  depend  on  his  men. 
He  was  surrounded  by  hostile  villagers,  as  he  called  them — 
that  is  to  say,  patriotic.  He  was  menaced  by  Metz,  by 
Verdun,  and  by  Stenay.  It  was  his  fear  of  Stenay  that 
had  caused  him  to  quit  Dun. 

The  Royal  German  was  the  sole  regiment  on  which  he 
could  depend.     It  was  necessary  to  keep  up  their  loyalty. 

M.  de  Bouille  and  his  son  Louis  sat  themselves  to  the 
work  body  and  soul. 

A  bottle  of  wine  and  a  louis  per  man  settled  the  affair. 

But  it  took  two  hours  to  arm  and  set  out. 

At  last,  he  started ;  but  at  seven  o'clock,  just  at  the  time 
when  the  King  got  into  the  carriage. 

In  two  hours  he  covered  the  eight  leagues  which  separa- 
ted him  from  Varennes. 

On  the  road  he  met  a  hussar. 

"  Well  ?  » 

"  The  King  is  arrested." 

"  We  know  it.      What  then  ?  " 

"  He  has  just  set  out  from  Varennes." 

"  Where  goes  he  ?  " 

"  To  Paris." 

Bouille  did  not  give  himself  time  to  reply. 

He  dashed  his  spurs  into  the  flanks  of  his  horse. 

His  regiment  followed  him. 


188  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

Varennes  saw  the  regiment  descend  "  like  a  waterspout 
amongst  its  vines,"  to  quote  the  language  of  the proces 
verlxd. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Place  du  Grand  Monarque,  the 
King  had  started  more  than  an  hour. 

He  acted  so  as  to  lose  no  time.  The  Rue  de  l'Hopital 
was  barricaded  ;  the  bridge  was  barricaded.  They  made  a 
detour  round  the  town  ;  they  crossed  the  river  by  the  ford 
at  the  Boucheries,  in  order  to  take  up  a  favorable  position 
on  the  Clermont  road,  to  attack  the  escort. 

The  order  was  given,  and  the  manoeuvre  accomplished. 

The  river  was  crossed. 

A  hundred  steps  more,  and  they  would  be  on  the  road. 

But  the  Moulin  Caual  was  on  their  way — six  feet  deep, 
and  impossible  to  ford. 

It  was  necessary  to  stop  and  march  back. 

For  an  instant,  they  held  the  idea  of  fording  the  river  at 
St.  Gengoulf,  taking  the  Rue  St.  Jean,  passing  through 
Varennes  and  falling  on  the  rear  of  the  escort. 

But  the  dragoons  were  fatigued  ;  the  horses  rebelled  at 
every  step.  It  would  be  necessary  to  tight  a  way  through 
Varennes,  and  to  fight  to  get  to  the  King. 

They  said  that  the  garrison  of  Verdun  were  on  the 
march,  with  some  cannon. 

Their  courage  failed  them.     They  felt  that  all  was  lost. 

M.  de  Bouille,  weeping  with  rage,  dashed  his  sword  into 
its  sheath,  and  ordered  a  retreat. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  high  town  saw  him  and  his  men 
standing  there  for  an  hour,  unable  to  make  up  their  minds 
to  return. 

Eventually  he  and  his  men  took  the  route  to  Dun,  and 
disappeared  in  the  distance. 

Tl>e  King  continued  his  way — the  way  of  the  Cross. 

After  the  arrest  of  M.  Dandoins  and  his  lieutenant,  an 
officer  of  the  National  Guard,  Citizen  Legay,  had  estab- 
lished under  the  trees  at  the  angle  of  the  Rue  de  la  Post 
an  Bois  and  the  Rue  du  Marais  a  post  of  National  Guards, 
picked  men,  and  all  ordered  to  fire  on  an}'  one  entering  or 
leaving  the  city  at  a  gallop,  without  responding  to  the  chal- 
lenge of  the  sentinels.- 

Some    minutes    after7  these    orders    had    been    given,  a 


LOVE    AND     LIBEETT.  189 

report  was  circulated  that  the  hussars  of  Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesles  bad    gone  round  the  town,  and  thai    Drouet    and 
Gruillaume  ran  a  greal  risk  of  tailing  into  their  hands. 
M.  Legay  then  asked  for  two  volunteers  to  go  with' him 

on  the  mad,  and  pick  up  what  information  they  could  with 
regard  to  Drouet  and  Guillauine. 

Two  gendarmes,  Collet  and  Pointe,  offered  themselves, 
and  all  three  set  out  on  their  voyage  of  discovery. 

On  the  road  they  met  the  two  citizens  of  St.  Menehould, 
who  had  started  on  sorry  hacks,  and  been  unable  to  ke<  p 
up  the  chase.  They  learnt  from  them  that  no  accident  had 
happened  to  the  two  messengers.  Anxious  to  be  the  bear- 
ers of  this  good  news,  they  put  their  horses  to  the  gallop, 
and,  forgetting  the  orders  given  by  Legay,  omitted  to 
answer  the  challenge  of  the  sentinels  in  ambuscade. 

The  sentinels  fired.  Two  of  the  horsemen  fell ;  one 
dead,  and  the  other  wounded. 

Lega}'  received  five  or  six  shots  in  the  arm  and  hand. 

The  same  da}'  that  the  King  repassed  St.  Menehould,  the 
slain  gendarme  was  buried. 

The  King,  on  arriving,  found  the  church  hung  with  black, 
and  the  whole  town  prepared  to  follow  the  body  to  its  last 
home. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

AN    OLD    ACQUAINTANCE    TURNS    UP. 

Nothing  important  passed  between  Varennes  and  St. 
Menehould.  The  illustrious  prisoners,  starting  at  every 
new  noise,  lost  in  a  measure,  as  they  approached  the  latter 
town,  every  hope  of  succor. 

The  first  thing  the}r  encountered  was  a  sort  of  rebuke 
from  the  dead.  Of  course,  I  allude  to  the  interment  of  the 
man  shot  in  the  evening  by  the  sentinels. 

The  royal  carriages  stopped  in  order  to  allow  the  funeral 
procession  to  pass.  Two  kings  found  themselves  face  to 
face  with  each  other — a  living  majesty  and  the  King  of 
Death.  The  living  King  recognised  the  power  of  King 
Death,  and  bowed  down  before  him. 


190  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

St.  Menehould  was  crowded.  The  National  Guard  pour- 
ed in  from  all  points,  those  from  Chalons  coming  in  public 
or  private  vehicles.  In  fact,  the  affluence  of  people  was 
such  that  they  feared  a  lack  of  provisions. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  people  coming  and  going,  I  rec- 
ognised, mounted  on  a  little  pony,  M.  Dampierre,  our  old 
chasseur  of  the  Forest  of  Argonne.  He  knew  me,  and 
came  to  me,  trying  to  force  the  line  of  guards  on  duty  at 
the  side  of  the  gates. 

It  was  I  who  repulsed  him,  because  he  did  not  count  on 
my  resistance. 

"  Pardon,  M.  le  Comte,"    said  I ;    "  you  cannot  pass  ! " 

"  Why  can  I  not  pass  ?  "   asked  he. 

"  Because  it  is  ordered  that  none  shall  be  allowed  to  ap- 
proach the  King's  carriage." 

"  Who  gave  that  order  ?  " 

<•  Our  Captain,  M.  Drouet." 

"  A  revolutionist !  " 

"  Possibly  so,  M.  le  Comte  ;  but  he  is  our  commander,  and 
we  are  bound  to  obey  him." 

"  Is  it  forbidden  to  cry    'Vive  le  Roi  ?  " 

"No,  M.  le  Comte  ;    we  are  all  Royalists." 

M  de  Dampierre  lifted  his  hat  as  high  as  his  length  of 
arm  would  permit  him,  raised  himself  in  his  stirrups,  and 
cried    "  Vive  le  Roi  !  " 

The  King  put  his  head  out  of  the  window,  and  without 
any  expression  of  gratitude  or  remembrance,  bowed  to  him. 

M.  de  Dampierre  retreated  out  of  the  crowd  with  trouble, 
being  obliged  to  make  his  horse  go  backwards.  I  remem- 
ber him  as  well  as  if  the  events  occurred  but  yesterday. 
He  wore  gray  trousers,  long  riding  boots,  a  white  waistcoat, 
a  three-cornered  hat,  trimmed  with  gold  lace.  As  usual 
with  him,  he  carried,  slung  over  his  shoulder,  a  little  single- 
barrelled  gun. 

I  lost  sight  of  him.  I  fancied  that  he  took  the  direction 
of  the  Rue  de  l'Abreuvoir. 

During  this  time,  the  Mayor  and  members  of  the  muni- 
cipality had  advanced  as  far  as  the  bridge  of  the  Aisne,  sit- 
uate at  the  extremity  of  the  Porte  au  Bois,  to  meet  the 
royal  family. 

A  municipal  officer  then  took  occasion  to  speak,  and  to 
tell  the  King  what  alarms  his  flight  had  caused  in  France. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  191 

Louis  XVI  was  contented  to  reply,  with  an  ill-tempered 
air,  "I  never  intended  to  leave  my  kingdom." 

The  crowd  was  so  great  that  we  took  half  an  hour  to  go 
five-hundred  yards. 

Ahout  halt-past  eleven,  the  King  mounted  the  steps  of 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  his  garments  covered  with  dust,  and  his 
face  altered  and  careworn. 

The  Queen  dressed  in  black.  She  had  changed  her  robe 
at  M.  Sauce's,  and  held  the  Dauphin  by  the  hand. 

Louis  XVI  and  his  children  were  hungry. 

As  for  the  Queen,  in  the  same  manner,  as  she  cared  not 
to  sleep,  she  now  seemed  to  care  not  to  eat. 

A  breakfast  had  been  prepared  through  the  forethought 
of  the  municipal  council,  but  as  they  were  along  time  serv- 
ing it,  a  gendarme  named  Lapointe  brought  some  cherries 
in  his  hat  for  Madame  Roy  ale. 

The  royal  family  had  likewise  need  of  rest. 

The  Mayor,  M.  Dupuis  de  Dam  martin,  offered  them  hos- 
pitality; they  accepted  it;  only  M.  Dupuis  de  Dammartin 
observed  to  the  King  that  it  would  be  just  as  well  if  the 
Queen  and  the  Dauphin  showed  themselves  to  the  people. 

The  King  made  no  difficulty.  He  showed  himself  first. 
Afterwards  the  Queen  appeared  in  her  turn,  holding  the 
Dauphin  in  her  arms.  The  window  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville 
— the  only  one  which  had  a  balcony — was  so  narrow  that 
the  King  and  Queen  could  not  both  show  themselves  at  the 
same  tune. 

A  municipal  officer  then  announced  to  the  people  that  the 
King,  being  fatigued,  intended  to  honor  the  citizens  of  St. 
Menehould  by  sleeping  within  their  walls. 

The  carriages  had  already  been  taken  to  the  stables,  and 
the  news  of  a  halt  for  twenty-four  hours  was  not  less  agree- 
able to  us,  who  had  been  marching  seven  or  eight  leagues 
under  a  burning  sun,  than  it  was  to  the  ro3ral  family,  when 
the  National  Guards  from  the  adjacent  towns  and  villages, 
who  filled  the  hotels  and  cafes,  rushed  into  the  place,  crying 
"Aristocrats  !  Traitors!"  and  saying  that  the  royal  family 
were  far  too  near  the  frontier  to  be  allowed  to  halt. 

In  consequence,  they  ordered  the  immediate  departure  of 
the  King  and  his  family. 

The  King,  having  informed  himself  of  the  cause  of  the 
tumult,  said,  with  his  usual  impassibility,  "  Very  well  ;  let 
us  go." 


192  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

The  Queen  then  re-appeared  on  the  balcony  holding  her 
son  bjT  the  hand.  She  pointed  out  the  National  Guards  to 
him,  saying  some  words  in  a  whisper. 

An  inhabitant  of  St.  Menehould,  who  was  at  an  adjoin- 
ing window,  assured  me  that  the  following  were  the  words 
that  she  spoke.  "  Do  }'ou  see  those  blue  toads  ?  It  is  they 
who  wish  us  to  set  out !  " 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  National  Guards  wore  the 
blue  uniform. 

As  the  royal  family  crossed  the  hall  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
into  which  opened  the  door  of  the  chapel,  where  the  prison- 
ers had  heard  mass,  the  Queen  perceiving  the  captives,  dis- 
tributed among  them  five  louis — the  King  ten. 

At  two  o'clock  the  carriages  started  for  Chalons.  From 
the  time  that  the  King  had  been  recognised  he  took  the 
place  of  honor  in  the  vehicle. 

MM.  de  Maiden,  de  Moustier,  and  de  Valory,  sat  on  the 
box,  but  they  were  not.  strapped  to  it  as  some  people  have 
said. 

Not  a  single  shout  for  the  King,  except  that  which  Dam- 
pierre  uttered,  as  we  have  before  mentioned,  was  used  at 
either  his  arrival  or  departure.  The  only  shouts  raised 
were  "  Vive  la  nation  !  "  "  Vivent  les  patriotes  !  " 

About  nine  or  ten  in  the  morning  the  Comte  de  Hans 
arrived  at  St.  Menehould,  exasperated  by  the  news  of  the 
arrest  of  the  King. 

Many  persons  had  heard  him  say,  "  The  King  is  arrested  ! 
We  are  all  lost !  But  the  King  shall  know  that  he  still  has 
some  faithful  subjects  !  " 

1  have  said  that,  after  speaking  to  me,  I  had  seen  him 
go  round  to  the  side  of  the  horse-pond. 

As  the  royal  carriage  passed,  he  presented  arms  to  the 
august  prisoners,  after  the  fashion  of  a  sentinel. 

The  King  recognised  him,  pointed  him  out  to  the  Queen, 
and  returned  his  salute. 

M.  Dampierre  then  put  his  horse  to  a  gallop,  and  disap- 
peared at  the  Rue  de  l'Abreuvoir  so  as  to  get  in  advance  of 
tiie  King's  carriage,  stopped  in  the  most  public  part  of  the 
town,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  l'Abreuvoir,  and  presented 
arms  afresh. 

Tlie  King  saluted  him  a  third  time. 

Then  pushing  his  horse  through  the  crowd  on  the  side 
where  I  was,  he  approached  the  carriage. 


LOVE     AND    LIBERTY.  193 

It  was  going  at  this  time  up  the  Fleurion  at  a  foot-pace. 

"Sire,"  said  he,  "you  see  before  you  one  of  your  most 
faithful  servants.  My  name  is  Duval  de  Dampierre,  Conite 
de  Haus.  I  have  married  a  lady  of  the  House  of  Legur, 
a  relative  of  the  minister  of  that  name,  and  a  niece  of 
M.  d'Allonville." 

"  All  these  names  are  known  to  me,"  replied  the  King  ; 
"  and  I  am  touched  at  the  proof  of  fidelity  which  you  give 
me." 

This  whispered  conversation,  after  the  pretence  of  the 
Conite  in  presenting  arms  to  the  King  on  his  road,  was  a 
direct  provocation  to  that  crowd  who  were  taking  him  who 
had  wished  to  escape  back  to  Paris. 

In  the  meantime  the  Comte  had  been  gently  pushed  on 
one  side,  and  darting  off,  he  disappeared  in  the  distance. 

The  head  of  the  procession  reached  the  end  of  the  town, 
and  arrived  at  the  decline  of  Dammartin  la  Planchette. 

As  they  left  the  city,  M.  de  Dampierre  reappeared,  and 
followed  their  route,  keeping  himself  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hedge  and  ditch.  He  wished,  by  some  means,  to  get  on  to 
the  top  of  the  King's  carriage,  from  whence  he  could  hold 
communication  with  the  royal  party  inside.  These  signs, 
as  they  could  easily  understand  them,  excited  defiance. 

They  believed  that  in  the  few  words  exchanged  at  the 
door  of  the  carriage,  a  project  for  a  rescue  had  been 
broached  ;  they  closed  round  the  carriage,  and  the  words 
"  Be  on  th'e  alert !  "  circulated  through  the  ranks  of  the 
National  Guards. 

M.  de  Dampierre  tried  to  approach  the  carriage  once 
again,  and  was  repulsed,  not  only  with  murmurs,  but  with 
menaces;  the  guards  crossing  their  muskets  across  the  door 
to  prevent  his  holding  any  communication  with  the  King. 

This  almost  insolent  persistence  on  his  part  had  exasper- 
ated even  the  most  temperate. 

Seeing  that  his  efforts  were  useless,  M.  de  Dampierre 
resolved  to  finish  with  an  act  of  bravado. 

Having  accomplished  two-thirds  of  the  descent,  at  a  spot 
called  La  Grevieres,  M.  de  Dampierre  called  out  a  second 
time  "  Vive  le  Roi  !  "  fired  off  his  gun  in  the  air,  and 
plunging  his  rowels  into  his  steed,  darted  off  at  a  gallop. 

A  wood  was  situated  about  half  a  league  from  the  road. 
They  believed  that  some  troops  were  in  ambuscade  there, 
12 


194  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

and  that  the  discharge  of  the  gun  was  a  preconcerted  sig- 
nal  for  them. 

Five  or  six  horsemen  dashed  off  in  pursuitof  JVt.  de  Dam- 
pierre  ;  ten  or  twelve  shots  were  fired  at  him  at  the  same 
time,  but  none  of  the  bullets  touched  him. 

M.  de  Dampierre,  still  at  a  gallop,  waved  his  arm  in  a 
triumphant  manner  in  the  air. 

I  rushed  off  like  the  others,  though  on  foot,  not  to  cap- 
cure  M.  de  Dampierre — heaven  forbid! — but,  on  the  con- 
trary, to  help  him  if  needful. 

M.  de  Dampierre  had  already  galloped  more  than  five 
hundred  yards,  and  he  had  almost  escaped  from  his  pursu- 
ers, when  his  horse,  in  leaping  a  ditch,  stumbled,  and  fell. 

But.  with  the  aid  of  the  bit  and  bridle,  he  managed  to 
raise  him  up  again,  and  once  more  set  off  at  a  gallop.  His 
gun  was  left  in  the  ditch. 

At  this  moment  a  solitary  gun  was  discharged. 

It  was  fired  by  a  peasant,  mounted  on  a  horse  belonging 
to  one  of  the  hussars,  which  he  had  captured  the  evening 
before. 

It  was  easj7  to  see  that  M.  de  Dampierre  was  wounded. 
He  fell  backwards  on  the  croup  of  his  horse,  which  reared. 

Then,  in  a  moment,  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  on 
the  little  bridge  of  St.  Catherine,  by  the  borders  of  the 
ditch,  the  waters  of  which  pass  under  the  bridge,  a  horrible 
scene  took  place,  which  I  saw  in  all  its  dreadful  details,  but 
was  unable  to  oppose. 

The  peasant  who  had  fired  the  shot,  followed  by  about 
forty  men,  caught  up  the  Comte  de  Hans,  dealt  him  a  blow 
with  his  sabre,  and  then  unhorsed  him.  I  saw  no  more. 
I  heard  the  report  of  about  twenty  guns,  into  the  suffocat- 
ing smoke  of  which  I  dashed. 

They  were  firing  at  M.  de.  Dampierre. 

I  arrived  too  late.  Had  I  reached  the  mob  sooner,  it 
would  have  been  to  have  died  with  him,  for  I  could  not 
have  saved  him. 

His  body  was  riddled  with  bullets,  and  gashed  with 
bayonets ;  his  face,  scratched  by  the  peasants'  hob-nailed 
boots,  was  unrecognisable. 

His  watch  was  dashed  to  pieces  by  a  ball  which  had 
penetrated  his  fob. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done.     I  threw  my  gun  over 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  195 

my  shoulder,  and,  with  tears  in  my  eyes  and  sweat  on  my 
brow,  1  rejoined  my  rank. 

The  royal  berlin  continued  its  route  slowly  and  sorrow- 
fully under  a  .sweltering  sun,  along  that  unbending  route 
which  crosses  like  a  pencil  line  that  sorrowful  portion  of 
France  called  the  Paltry  Land. 


--«-  — » —  » 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    CRITICS    CRITICISED. 

Not  only  does  it  seem  to  me  sufficient  to  relate  what  I 
have  seen  ;  I  desire  also,  as  an  eye-witness,  to  rectify  history 
and  to  combat,  on  sure  grounds,  the  mistake  of  historians. 

In  order  to  give  a  slight  idea  of  the  -intense  excitement 
of  Republican  France  against  the  King,  and  more  particu- 
larly against  the  Queen,  I  quote  the  following  letter,  the 
original  of  which  was  sent  by  the  citizens  of  Counien  to  the 
municipal  officers  of  Varennes  : — 

"  27th  of  June,  2nd  year  of  Liberty. 
"  Gentlemen, — 

''Allow  the  patriotic  Women  of  the  State,  who  have  the 
honor  of  being  members  of  the  Club  of  the  Society  of  the 
Friends  of  the  Constitution,  to  present  to  you  their  best 
congratulations  at  the  capture  in  your  city  of  the  execrable 
traitors,  Citizen  and  Citizeness  Capet,  whose  traitorous  ma- 
chinations have  so  long  tried  to  crush  freedom  in  France. 
Our  onlj''  prajTer  is  that  both  may  speedily  be  humiliated. 
Vive  la  France !  Vive  la  Liberte  !  A  bas  les  Captes  ! 
"  For  the  Citizenesses  of  Counien, 
(Signed)  "  Citoyenne  Marie  Benoit. 

"  To  the  Municipal  Officers  of  Varennes." 

After  this  specimen  of  the  feeling  of  the  women  of  France 
can  it  be  wondered  that  the  fate  of  the  King  and  Queen 
seemed  assured.  Either  they  must  die,  or  France  must 
sink  lower  than  ever.  This,  of  course,  was  only  my  opin- 
ion ;  but  events  have  proved  whether  I  was  right  or  wrong. 


196  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

IS    LOVE    ETERNAL? 

The  route  from  St.  Menehould  to  Chalons  is  long  and 
fatiguing — nine  apparently  never-ending  leagues,  travers- 
ing flat  and  arid  plains  under  a  leaden  sky,  with  a  sun 
darting  his  'scorching  rays  with  reflected  lustre  on  the 
musket  barrels  and  sword  blades. 

The  royal  family  arrived  at  Chalons  fatigued,  dispirited 
and  worn  out,  at  ten  in  the  evening. 

Half  the  original  followers  of  the  royal  escort  had  thrown 
themselves  down  under  hedges  and  in  ditches,  unable  any 
longer  to  proceed. 

But  the  actual  escort  was  as  strong  on  arriving  at 
Chalons  as  when  leaving  St.  Menehould,  since  it  was  re- 
cruited by  the  National  Guard  of  every  village  through 
which  it  passed ;  and  the  villages  were  pretty  thickly 
scattered  on  the  right  and  left  of  that  road. 

The  authorities,  of  whom  the  Mayor  took  the  lead,  con- 
ducted the  prisoners  to  the  gate  of  the  Dauphin.  I  use 
the  word  prisoners  advisedly,  as  the  royal  family  were  in 
fact,  at  that  time,  prisoners  of  the  nation. 

Strange  coincidence ! — the  gate  through  which  they 
passed  was  the  triumphal  arch  raised  bj7  the  French  people 
in  commemoration  of  the  entry  of  Madame  the  Dauphine 
into  France. 

It  still  bore  the  inscription,  "  May  it  stand  eternal,  like 
our  love." 

The  arch,  in  fact,  still  stood,  but  the  love  which  prompted 
it  had  fallen  away. 

At  Chalons,  especially,  opinion  changes. 

The  bluffness  of  the  national  party  was  lessened.  The 
old  town  where  Attila  lost  himself,  and  which  now  pre- 
served its  trade  only  in  the  wines  of  Champagne,  was  in- 
habited by  Royalists  of  the  better  class,  and  by  poor 
gentlemen.  These  good  people  were  sorely  vexed  to  see 
their  unhappy  King  in  such  doleful  plight. 

They  expected  his  arrival ;  consequently  a  great  supper 
was  prepared 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  197 

The  King  and  Queen  partook  of  the  meal  in  public,  as 
they  did  at  Varennes.  A  sort  of  royal  drawing-room  was 
held.  The  ladies  bore  with  them  immense  bouquets.  The 
Queen  was  positively  overwhelmed  with  flowers. 

They  determined  to  start  on  the  morrow,  feeling  an  in- 
crease of  confidence  on  account  of  tlie  reception  they  bad 
met  with. 

Before  they  set  out  out,  mass  was  celebrated  at  ten 
o'clock  by  M.  Charber,  perpetual-curate  of  Notre  Dame. 
The  King  was  present,  accompanied  by  the  Queen  and 
the  royal  family  ;  but  hardly  had  the  solemn  service  com- 
menced, before  a  disturbance  was  made. 

It  was  the  National  Guard  of  Rheims,  who  wished  the 
King  to  set  out  at  once.  The  time  spent  in  mass  appeared 
to  them  wasted,  as  they  had  come  solely  to  gloat  over  the 
downfall  of  monarchy,  and  the  ruin  of  their  King.  Tbey 
broke  open,  therefore,  the  doors  of  the  chapel,  despite  the 
resistance  offered  to  them  by  the  National  Guard. 

The  King  and  Queen  were  advised  to  show  themselves 
at  the  balcony.  They  did  so;  but  the  sight  of  their 
august  persons  exasperated,  in  place  of  calming,  the  tur- 
bulence of  the  excited  populace,  who  shouted  for  the  royal 
family  to  leave  their  city,  and  actually  drew  the  carriages 
to  the  door,  harnessed  the  horses,  and  did,  in  fact,  all  they 
could  do  to  accelerate  the  departure  of  the  King. 

The  King  appeared  again  at  the  balcony,  and  pronounced 
the  following  words  : — 

"  Since  you  oblige  me  to  leave  you,  I  go  !  " 

Although  this  was  a  reproach  more  than  anything  else,  it 
satisfied  the  people. 

At  eleven  exactly,  the  roj'al  family  re-entered  their  car- 
riage, and  put  themselves  en  route. 

The  heat  was  dreadfully  oppressive.  Their  journey  was 
made,  as  it  were,  through  a  blast  furnace,  and  their  eyes 
were  incessantly  tormented  by  a  penetrating  dust. 

I  happened  to  know  the  situation  of  .a  cool  spring.  I  ap- 
proached the  royal  carriage,  and  demanded  respectfully  of 
her  Majesty  the  Queen  if  she  desired  a  glass  of  fresh  water, 
as  we  were  near  to  some  of  a  most  excellent  quality. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  the  Queen. 

"  Oh,  do  have  some,  mamma — do  have  some  !  I  am  so 
thirsty  !  "  said  the  Dauphin. 


198  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

u  I  wish  it  not ;  but  give  me  some  for  my  children,"  said 
the  Queen. 

Madame  de  Tourzal  handed  me  a  silver  cup. 

"  Fill  this  up  for  me,  also,"  said  Madame  Elizabeth. 

She  handed  me  another  cup. 

In  fancy,  after  a  lapse  of  sixty  years,  I  can  still  see  her 
angelic  face — still  hear  that  charming  voice,  whose  entreat- 
ies were  more  than  commands. 

I  leant  my  gun  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  rushed  to 
the  fountain,  and  brought  hack  the  two  cups  filled  with  the 
sparkling  water,  which,  through  my  rapidity,  had  not  had 
time  to  lose  its  freshness. 

The  Dauphin  and  Madame  Royale  shared  one  cup  between 
them. 

Madame  Elizabeth,  after  offering  the  other  cup  to  the 
Queen,  who  refused  it,  drank  it  herself. 

"  Oh,  what  delicious  water  it  is,"  cried  the  Dauphin. 
"  Why  does  the  world  drink  aught  else  ?  " 

"  Because  they  have  drinks  they  like  better,"  replied  the 
King. 

"  My  son  thanks  you,  sir,"  said  the  Queen. 

"  I  also  thank  you,"  said  Madame  Elizabeth,  with  her 
sweet  smile. 

I  seized  my  gun,  which  had  been  left  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree. 

"  I  saw  you  once  run  after  M.  de  Dampierre,"  said  the 
Queen.     "  With  what  intention  ?  " 

"  With  the  hope  of  saving  him,  if  possible,  madame." 

"  You  have  the  same  opinions,  then,  as  M.  de  Dam- 
pierre," said  the  Queen. 

"  I  agree  with  him  in  the  respect  which  he  feels  towards 
your  enemies." 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  give  an  ambiguous  answer, 
young  man  ?  "  said  the  King. 

"  Yes,  sire,"  I  replied. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  said  he. 

Then  to  the  Queen:  "The  minds  of  these  people  are 
poisoned  against  us,  from  their  very  childhood." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  "  cried  the  Dauphin,  "  what  a  beautiful  gun 
he  has  !  " 

I  was  the  person  referred  to.  To  the  Queen  and 
Madame  Elizabeth  I  wras  "  monsieur,"  but  to  the  Dauphin 
I  was  simply  "  he." 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  199 

The  King  looked  at  my  gun. 

"  It  is,"  said  he,  "  a  gun  manufactured  at  Versailles. 
Where  did  you  procure  it  '.' " 

"The  Due  d'Enghien  gave  it  to  me,  sire." 

"Yes,"  said  the  King,  "the  Condes  have  all  the  benefits 
on  this  side, — '  the  department  of  the  Meuse,'  as  they  call 
it." 

Then  looking  towards  me :  "  Have  you  ever  served 
princes  ?  " 

"Sire,"  said  I,  smiling,  "is  it  necessary  to  have  served 
princes  in  order  to  receive  a  present  from  them  ?" 

The  Queen  bent  her  regards  upon  the  King. 

"  Strange  !  "  said  she. 

I  retreated  a  pace. 

The  King  beckoned  me,  but  not  knowing  how  to  address 
me,  he  said,  "My  young  friend,  you  say  that  the  Due  d'En- 
ghien gave  you  that  gun  ?" 

"  Yes,  sire.  I  understand,"  said  I,  "  that  the  King 
wishes  to  know  upon  what  occasion  this  gun  was  presented 
to  me.  I  was  the  nephew  of  a  park-keeper  of  the  Forest 
of  Argonne,  whose  name  was  Father  Deseharmes.  The 
Duc.de  Conde  and  the  Due  d'Enghien  often  hunted  in  this 
forest.  The  Due  d'Enghein  took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  gave 
me  this  gun." 

The  King,  for  a  moment,  appeared  buried  in  thought. 

"  Your  uncle  is  still  alive  ?"    he  then  asked. 

"  Sire,  he  is  dead  ?  " 

"Why  do  you  not  solicit  his  place  ?  " 

"  Because,  sire,  the  keepers  wear  livery.  I  am  a  free 
man." 

"  Children  suck  in  republican  ideas,  even  with  their  moth- 
ers' milk!"  murmured  the  King. 

He  then  threw  himself  back  in  his  carriage. 

I  know  not  if  the  King  spoke  again  ;  but  the  carriage  at 
the  moment  stopped;  and,  perchance,  with  it  stopped  some- 
thing of  importance. 

We  had  arrived  at  Port  Bassion. 

Suddenly  was  heard  a  cry:  "The  commissaires !  the 
commissaires  !  " 

At  this  moment,  a  man  on  horseback  dashed  up  to  the 
door  of  the  King's  carriage.  The  King  put  out  his  head, 
to  see  what  had  caused  the  halt. 


200  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  horseman,  "  here  are  three  deputies, 
who  wish  to  direct  the  return  of  your  Majesty.'"' 

"Aha  !  "  said  the  King,  "Can  you  tell  me  the  names  of 
these  estimable  gentlemen?" 

"  Their  names,  sire,  are  Citizens  Latour-Maubourg,  Bar- 
nave,  and  Petion." 

The  three  deputies  represented  the  three  different  parties 
of  the  Assembly.  Latour-Maubourg  was  Royalist,  Barnave 
was  Constitutional,  Petion  was  Republican. 

The  crowd  respectfully  drew  back.  Three  men  approach- 
ed the  royal  carriage,  stopped  at  the  door,  and  saluted  the 
King,  who  returned  their  inclination. 

One  of  them  held  in  his  hand  a  paper,  which  lie  read  in 
a  loud  voice.     It  was  the  decree  of  the  National  Assembly. 

The  man  who  read  it  was  Petion. 

This  decree  ordered  them  to  proceed  to  the  King,  not  on- 
ly to  ensure  his  safet}r,  but  also  as  a  mark  of  respect  due  to 
royalty,  as  represented  in  the  persons  of  Louis  XVI  and 
Marie  Antoinette. 

The  King  knew  that  M.  Latour-Manbourg  was  a  Roy- 
alist. 

He  therefore  desired  that,  as  two  deputies  had  to  sit  in 
the  carriage  with  him,  he  would  name  the  two.  The 
Queen  expressed  the  same  desire. 

M.  Latour-Maubourg  replied,  in  a  whisper  : — 

"  I  accepted  the  sad  mission  which  introduces  me  to  your 
Majesty  only  in  the  hopes  of  being  of  some  service  to  you. 
Your  Majesty  can,  then,  count  upon  me  as  a  faithful  fol- 
lower. But  I  have  not  the  power  of  Barnave,  who  exercises 
an  enormous  influence  over  the  Assembly.  He  is  vain  as 
an  advocate,  and  will  be  flattered  bj'  having  a  seat  in  the 
carriage  of  the  King.  It  is,  therefore,  needful  that  he 
should  occupy  a  place,  and  that  the  Queen  should  take  the 
opportunity  of  improving  his  accjuaintance.  I,  therefore, 
beg  your  Majesties  to  excuse  my  surrendering  my  seat." 

The  Queen  bowed  her  head.  She  wished  to  again  as- 
sume, her  womanly  properties,  and  to  seduce  Barnave,  as 
she  had  Mirabeau.  To  be  sure,  it  was  humiliating,  but,  at 
the  same  time,  it  was  a  distraction. 

Strange  contradiction  !  It  was  the  King  who  had  most 
repugnance  to  Barnave's  occupying  a  seat  in  the  royal  car- 
riage.    Barnave,  a  little  Dauphinois  advocate,  pride  upon 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  201 

his  face,  his  nose  perked  up  in  the  air,  and  his  tout  ensem- 
ble proclaiming  insufferable  conceit,  took  his  place.  Petion 
likewise,  his  rosj  cheeks  glowing  with  satisfaction,  disposed 
of  himself  to  his  perfect  content. 

Barnave  and  Petion,  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  entered 
the  royal  carriage. 

Madame  de  Tourzel  had  resigned  her  place,  and  entered, 
with  M.  Latour-Manbourg,  the  carriage  set  apart  for  the 
attendants. 

Petion  at  once  proclaimed  his  discourtesy  by  claiming,  as 
representative  of  the  National  Assembly,  a  seat  with  his 
face  to  the  horses.  The  King  and  Queen  made  a  sign  to 
Madame  Elizabeth,  who  at  once  changed  places  with  him. 

At  last,  all  inside  the  royal  carriage  were  satisfactorily 
arranged.  On  the  hack  seat  were  the  King,  Petion,  the 
Queen;  and  on  the  front,  Madame  Elizabeth,  face  to  face 
with  Petion,  Madame  Royale  and  the  Dauphin  face  to  face 
and  knee  to  knee  with  the  Queen,  who  was  opposite,  also, 
to  Bernave. 

At  the  first  glance  the  Queen  fancied  that  Barnave  was 
dry,  cold,  and  wicked. 

Barnave  had  hoped  to  take  the  place  of  Mirabeau  at  the 
Assembly.  He  had  succeeded  in  part ;  could  not  the  Queen 
confer  the  rest  ? 

Why  not  ? 

Had  she  not,  at  St.  Cloud,  given  a  secret  interview  to 
Mirabeau  ?  Why  should  not  he,  Barnave,  be  accorded  a 
similar  favor. 

But  then,  public  rumor  spread  abroad  that  one  of  the 
three  gentlemen  on  the  box  of  the  carriage,  "  M.  Fersen," 
was  the  accepted  lover  of  the  Queen. 

Strange  thing  !  As  I  have  told  you  the  good  self-opin- 
ion of  Barnave,  he  was  yet  jealous  of  M.  de  Fersen. 

With  the  admirable  shrewdness  of  women,  the  Queen 
discovered  this  before  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  elapsed. 

She  managed  to  get  the  three  guards,  named  respectively 
MM.  de  Maiden,  de  Yalory,  and  de  Moustier. 

iSTo  Fersen  ! 

Barnave  breathed,  smiled,  and  became  positively  charm- 
ing. 

Barnave  was  young,  handsome,  polished,  of  fascinating 
manners,  and  felt  great  commiseration  for  the  unfortunate 
royal  party. 


202  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

In   place   of    the    Queen   seducing   Barnave,   Barnave 
almost  seduced  the  Queen. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

BARNAVE    AND    PETION. 


One  naturally  asks  how  I  became  acquainted  with  all 
this. 

I  have  already  said  that,  on  leaving  Varennes,  I  had 
taken  a  place  on  the  back  of  the  carriage  of  the  King. 
Happily,  I  had  managed  to  retain  my  position,  despite  the 
heat,  the  fatigue,  and  the  dust.  Twice  only,  for  a  few  min- 
utes, had  I  quitted  my  location  ;  firstly,  to  try  and  assist 
M.  de  Dampierre,  and,  secondly,  to  procure  the  water  for 
Madame  Elizabeth  and  the  Dauphin.  Both  times,  on  my 
return,  I  recovered  my  place.  The  glass  windows  of  the 
berlin  were  let  down  on  account  of  the  heat,  and  the  royal 
family,  not  speaking  in  very  low  voices,  I  managed  to  hear 
pretty  well  all  that  was  said. 

This  explanation  given,  I  will  continue  my  story,  with 
the  history  of  the  rudeness  of  Petion,  and  the  courtesy  of 
Barnave. 

There  was  placed  between  Madame  Elizabeth  and 
Madame  Royale,  a  bottle  of  lemonade  and  a  glass.  Petion 
was  thirsty,  and  felt  inclined  to  drink.  He  took  the  glass, 
and  handed  it  to  Madame  Elizabeth,  who  took  up  the  lein- 
onade,  and  filled  it. 

••Enough!''  said  Petion,  lifting  his  glass  as 'he  would 
have  done  at  a  cabaret. 

The  Queen's  e}'es  flashed  with  anger. 

The  Dauphin,  with  the  impatience  of  a  youngster,  shift- 
ed in  his  seat;  Petion  seized  him,  and  imprisoned  him 
In    ween  his  legs. 

The  Queen  said  nothing,  but  again  darted  a  look  of 
menace  at  Petion  ;  who,  remembering  that  it  might  be 
politic  to  gain  the  favor  of  the  King,  caressed  the  Dau- 
pli in's  white  locks  with  apparent  affection. 

The  Dauphin  made  a  grimace  expressive  of  grief. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  203 

The  Queen  snatched  him  from  IVt  ion's  legs. 
Bar  nave,  smiling,  immediately  opened  his  arms  to  him. 
The  boy  seemed  willing,  and  was,  therefore,  soon  installed 
on  Barnave's  knees. 

His  instinct  shewed  him  that  he  would  find  in  Barnave 
a  protector. 

Playing  with  a  hutton  on  the  coat  of  the  represenative, 
he  discovered  that  a  device  was  inscribed  upon  it,  and,  after 
many  efforts,  succeeded  in  reading  it. 

The  device  was.  "  Live  free,  or  die." 

The  Queen  sighed,  and  regarded  Barnave,  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

Barnave's  heart  smote  him. 

This  was  his  position.  He  followed  his  own  individual 
romance,  in  the  midst  of  a  royal  and  terrible  history,  when 
sdddenly  a  noise  was  heard  some  paces  behind  the  royal 
carriage. 

The  cries  and  tumult  drew  Barnave  from  the  magic  cir- 
cle which  surrounded  him. 

A  venerahle  ecclesiastic  approached  the  carriage,  much  in 
the  same  manner  as  M.  de  Dampierre  had  done,  and  up- 
lifted his  hands  and  blessed  the  royal  martyr. 

The  mob,  unsatiated  by  one  murder,  rushed  upon  the 
priest,  and  drew  him  away,  to  slaughter  him  in  the  ditch 
by  the  roadside. 

I  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  carriage  to  where  this 
affair  was  taking  place. 

"  M.  Barnave,  M.  Barnave  !  "  cried  I ;  "  help,  help  !  " 

At  the  same  moment,  M.  Barnave,  putting  his  head  out 
of  the  window,  saw  what  was  taking  place. 

He  placed  the  Dauphin  in  the  arms  of  his  aunt,  and 
opened  the  carriage  door  wdth  such  violence  and  rapidity, 
that  he  almost  fell  out;  in  fact,  he  would  have  fallen,  had 
not  Madame  Elizabeth  caught  and  retained  him  by  his 
coat-tails. 

"  Oh,  Frenchmen  !  "  cried  he  ;  "  ye  are  a  nation  of  brave 
men — would  ye  become  a  horde  of  assassins?" 

At  this  eloquent  appeal,  the  people  let  go  the  priest,  who 
escaped,  protected  by  the  outspread  arms  and  eloquent  ges- 
tures of  Barnave. 

The  door  was  again  shut,  Barnave  retook  his  place,  and 
the  Queen  said  to  him,  "  I  thank  you,  M.  Barnave." 


204  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

He  bowed  his  head. 

Before  the  arrival  of  the  commissaires,  the  King  had 
eaten  alone  with  his  family  ;  but  now,  after  consulting  the 
Queen,  he  invited  them  to  share  his  repast. 

Petion  accepted  the  invitation  ;  Latour-Maubourg  and 
Barnave  declined. 

Barnave  insisted,  however,  on  waiting  on  the  royal  fam- 
ily ;  but  the  Queen  made  him  a  sign,  and  he  yielded. 

I  was  one  of  the  guard  at  the  door  of  the  dining-room. 

In  the  evening,  MM.  Drouet  and  Guillaume  set  out  at 
full  speed,  to  inform  the  Assembly  of  what  had  taken 
place. 

Drouet  came  to  bid  me  good-bye. 

"  M.  Drouet,"  said  I  to  him,  "you  know  me,  as  I  am 
your  pupil.  I  take  the  greatest  interest  in  that  which  is 
going  on.  It  will  be  something  to  talk  about  for  the  rest 
of  my  life.  Give  the  order,  before  }rou  leave,  to  have  me 
always  placed  close  to  their  Majesties.  The  fatigue  will  be 
nothing,  and  I  wish  to  see  all  that  goes  on." 

"Be  it  as  you  wish,"  said  he,  without  making  the  least 
objection. 

That  was  the  reason  why  I  had  been  appointed  one  of 
the  guards  that  day  at  the  door  of  the  dining-room. 

This  is  what  happened  at  Dormans. 

After  dinner,  the  three  commissaires  went  into  the 
neighboring  room — that  is  to  say,  the  one  at  which  I 
mounted  guard. 

"Citizens,"  said  Barnave  to  them,  "we  are  commissaires 
of  the  National  Assembly,  and  not  the  executioners  of  the 
royal  family  ;  and  to  make  them  proceed  under  this  burn- 
ing sun  is  simply  to  conduct  them  to  the  scaffold." 

"Good!"  said  Petion.  "What  has  happened  to  them 
has  been  brought  on  by  their  own  follies." 

"  Still  they  are  no  less  King  and  Queen,"  replied  M.  de 
Latour-Maubourg. 

"  If  affairs  keep  progressing  as  they  do  now,  it  is 
extremely  probable  that  they  will  not  long  even  have  that 
title  to  console  them." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Barnave.  "But  still  I  think  that, 
as  long  as  they  retain  the  titles  of  King  and  Queen,  they 
ought  to  be  treated  as  such." 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  said  Petion,  in  an  indifferent 
tone.     "  Do  as  you  like,  most  loyal  gentlemen." 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  205 

Saying  those  words,  he  left  the  room. 
Barnave    and   M.    de    Latour-Maubourg,  being    alone, 
decided  that  the  royal  carriage  Bhould  be  accompanied  only 

by  a  cavalry  escort,  so  that  it  might  proceed  at  a  trot,  and 
mi  the  third  evening  arrive  at  Meaux. 

At  that  moment,  they  relieved  guard.  I  ran  to  the 
postmaster  at  Donnans,  who   was  a  friend   of  M.    Drouet's, 

and  with  whom  we  had  lodged  on  our  way  to  the  federation, 
and  prayed  him  to  lend  me  a  horse,  to  go  as  far  as  Meaux, 
where  the  royal  family  would  halt,  to  pass  the  night  in 
repose. 

In  these  critical  times,  paternal  feeling  elevated  itself. 
The  postmaster  had  seen  M.  Drouet  the  evening  before, 
who  had  announced  to  him  my  arrival  to-day.  He  would 
not  let  me  hire  the  steed — he  gave  it  to  me. 

They  arrived  at  Meaux  about  six  in  the  evening. 

The  King  again  invited  the  commissaires  to  sup  with 
him,  as  he  had  before  invited  them  to  dine.  Petion 
accepted  the  invitation;  M.  de  Latour-Maubourg  and  liar- 
nave  refused  it. 

liut  the  Queen,  with  charming  grace,  turning  towards 
Barnave,  said,  "  Pray  accept  it,  M.  Barnave,  as,  after  the 
meal,  I  shall  have  need  of  you." 

Barnave  bowed,  the  King  signed  to  M.  de  Latour- 
Maubourg  and  the  two  took  their  places  at  the  ro\ral  table. 

They  were  located  in  the  palace  of  the  Bishop  of  Meaux, 
a  melancholy-looking  place  enough,  with  its  dark  oak  stair- 
case and  nrysterious  and  dusty  passages. 

1  was  on  guard  at  the  garden  gate. 

After  dinner,  the  Queen,  who,  as  she  had  said  to  Barnave, 
had  need  of  him,  took  his  arm,  and  mounted  the  staircase 
to  the  apartments  above,  under  pretext  of  seeing  a  cham- 
ber once  occupied  by  Bossuet. 

As  for  the  King,  he  descended  into  the  gardens  with 
Petion.     Potion  it  was  who  desired  the  tete-a-tete. 

Potion,  who,  apart  from  his  folly,  was  a  good  man,  and 
had  a  good  heart,  had  formed  an  idea  of  escape  for  the  King. 
It  was,  to  allow  the  three  body-guards  to  go,  so  that  they 
might  disguise  themselves  as  National  Guards,  and  so  facil- 
itate their  entrance  into  Paris. 

But,  extraordinary  to  relate,  the  King  could  not  under- 
stand this  idea  of  Petion's  ;  and  not  wishing  to  be  under 


206  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

an  obligation  to  Petion,  and  having  the  absurd  suspicion 
that  he  wished  to  assassinate  the  guards,  he  refused. 

And  yet,  on  the  day  when  he  could  have  caused  Lafayette 
to  be  proclaimed  Mayor  of  Paris,  he  nominated  Petion. 

It  was  because  the  Queen  hated  Lafayette  more  than  the 
King  detested  Petion. 

As  for  the  Queen,  no  one  knows  what  passed  between  her 
and  Baruave,  except  through  the  account  which  she  after- 
wards gave  to  Madame  Campan. 

The  impression  which  the  young  representative  produced 
on  the  Queen  may  be  summed  up  in  those  words. 

"  If  ever  power  returns  into  our  hands,  the  pardon  of 
Barnave  is  assured  in  our  hearts."  « 

The  Queen  was  ready  to  pardon  Barnave  for  his  rebel- 
lion ;  Prance  did  not  pardon  him  for  his  weakness. 

The  unhappy  orator  paid  with  his  head  for  the  few 
moments  of  happiness  he  spent  with  this  second  Marie 
Stuart. 

Perchance  he  had  the  same  honor  as  Mirabeau,  of  kissing 
her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

PARIS. 


Day  dawned. 

It  was  the  25th  of  June.  They  returned  to  Paris  after 
five  da3rs'  absence. 

Five  days !  What  terrible  events  had  come  to  pass  in 
the  space  of  five  days  ! 

As  the}'  approached  Paris,  Barnave  retook  his  seat  at  the 
back. 

No  longer  was  it  a  seat  of  honor,  but  the  place  of 
danger. 

Lf  a  fanatic  should  fire  on  the  King,  which  was,  indeed, 
probable  ;  if  on  the  Queen,  which  was  more  than  probable  ; 
— Barnave  was  there,  to  arrest  with  his  own  body  the  fell 
bullet  aimed  at  royalty. 

M.  Mathieu  Damas  had  been  charged  by  Lafayette, 
Royalist  though  he  was,  to  protect  their  entry. 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  207 

This  able  strategist  had  drawn  from  all  parties  in  order 
to  diminish  the  danger,  tie  confided  the  guarding  of  the 
carriage  to  the  grenadiers,  whose  tall  hats  hid  entirely  the 
doors  ;  a  line  of  horse  grenadiers  formed  a  second  ring. 

As  for  the  three  guards  whom  Louis  XVJ  had  not  wished 
to  go,  two  grenadiers,  with  their  muskets  bayoneted,  sat  a 
little  behind  the  box-seat,  ready  to  suppress  any  attempt  at 
rescue  or  flight. 

The  heat  was  tremendous.  The  carriage,  the  nearer  it 
approached  Paris,  appeared  to  be  entering  the  mouth  of 
a  furnace. 

The  Queen,  whom  nothing  hitherto  had  conquered,  was 
beaten  by  the  heat.  Twice  or  thrice  she  cried,  "  I  suffo- 
cate !  " 

At  Bourget,  the  King  asked  for  wine. 

Broken  down  by  fatigue,  Madame  Elizabeth  slept. 

The  change  of  places  had  brought  Petion  close  by  her. 
The  face  of  the  future  Mayor  of  Paris  had  a  remarkable 
expression  of  joy.  The  Queen,  who  cared  not  for  sleeping 
herself,  shook  her  by  the  arm  in  order  to  awaken  her. 

"Let  her  alone,"  cried  Petion.  "  Mature  must  take  its 
course." 

They  passed  the  harrier,  and  entered  into  the  midst  of  a 
moving  and  agitated  people. 

From  time  to  time  the  crowd  gave  a  tremendous  yell. 
The  King,  trying  to  show  sang-froid,  began,  apparently, 
to  read. 

"  Suppose  one  were  to  applaud  the  King  !  " 

"  He  shall  be  scourged  !  " 

"  Suppose  one  were  to  insult  him  ?  " 

"  He  shall  be  hanged  !  " 

The  crowd  kept  pace  with  the  carriage. 

Mathieu  Damas,  commanding  the  escort,  did  not  wish  to 
enter  Paris  by  the  Faubourg  St.  Martin.  He  was  nearer 
the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  of  terrible  memory,  on  account 
of  the  attack  and  seizure  of  the  Bastille. 

He  asked  himself  if  he  had  a  human  barrier  strong 
enough  to  protect  the  royal  family  from  the  crowd  who 
had  virtually  sentenced  them  to  death.  He  went  round 
Paris  by  the  external  Boulevards,  and  entered  it  by  the 
Champ  Elysees  and  the  Place  Louis  XV. 

On  the  Place  Louis  XV  stood,  at  that  period,  the  statue 
of  the  monarch  whose  name  the  place  bore. 


208  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

They  had  bandaged  the  eyes  of  the  statue  with  a  hand- 
kerchief. 

This  allusion,  though  ignored  by  the  King,  still  disquiet- 
ed him. 

"  Why  this  bandage  on  the  eyes  of  my  predecessor  ?  "  in- 
quired the  King. 

"  To  show  the  blindness  of  the  monarchy,  sire,"  replied 
Petion. 

In  the  progress  from  the  Champs  Elysees  to  the  Place 
Louis  XV,  the  barrier  of  grenadiers  was  often  broken. 

Then  the  Queen  saw  appear  at  the  windows  hideous  faces, 
expressive  of  satisfaction  and  revenge. 

What  caused  those  devils  to  turn  away  and  bow? 

It  was  a  kiss  which  the  Dauphin  sent  them,  and  a  bow 
from  his  sister ;  those  white-winged  angels  hovering  over 
the  royal  family. 

Lafayette,  with  his  etat  major,  passed  by  the  Queen. 

As  soon  as  she  perceived  them,  she  cried  out,  "  M.  La- 
fayette, above  all  things  save  my  three  body-guards ;  their 
crime  has  been  but  to  obey  me." 

The  same  cry  was  uttered  by  her  at  Versailles  on  the  6th 
of  October.     Their  danger  was  really  great. 

The  carriages  passed  through  the  gate  of  the  Tuileries, 
which  was  vainly  endeavored  to  be  shut  after  them.  They 
proceeded  along  the  grand  promenade  of  the  garden,  and 
halted  only  at  the  end  of  the  great  terrace  which  stretched 
along  the  front  of  the  palace. 

It  was  there  that  the  crowd,  greater  than  ever,  awaited 
them.  It  was  impossible  to  go  farther;  they  must  get  out 
of  their  carriage. 

The  Assembly  was  not  present,  but  it  had  sent  twenty 
deputies. 

Lafayette  cleared  a  pathway  from  the  terrace  to  the  pal- 
noe  door.  He  constructed  an  iron  arch  with  the  muskets 
and  ''lyonets  of  the  National  Guard. 

"  M.  Barnave,"  again  cried  the  Queen,  "  I  ask  you  to 
protect  my  three  guards." 

liie  children  first  descended,  and  entered  the  palace  with- 
out opposition.  It  was  then  the  turn  of  the  three  guards, 
for  whom  the  Queen  had  asked  protection  from  M.  Lafayette 
and  M.  Barnave. 

Then  there  came  a  terrible  outcry. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  209 

I  had  left  my  horse  at  the  top  of  the  Champs  Elysees, 
and  marched  with  the  grenadiers  on  foot.  At  first,  they 
trjed  to  turn  me  out,  but  the  King  said,  "Let  him  alone; 
he  is  a  friend." 

They  did  leave  me  alone.  M.  Petion  gave  me  aside 
glance  ;   .M.  1  >arna\  e  smiled. 

The  King  ami  Queen  looked  to  see  what  would  happen 
to  the  three  guards  ;  the  King  gazed  with  his  usual  apathy, 
the  Queen  with  intense  interest. 

The  sabres  and  pikes  of  the  National  Guard  waved  over 
them  as  they  shouted,  "  Death  to  the  traitors  ! '" 

All  of  a  sudden.  I  saw  a  stream  of  hluod  running  down 
M.  de  Maiden's  cheek. 

Being  in  the  circle,  I  drew  him,  with  a  vigorous  effort, 
towards  me,  crying,  "  Peace  !  peace  !  I  am  the  friend  of 
M.  Drouet." 

Five  hundred  voices  shouted,  "  Long  live  Drouet !  Long 
live  Guillaume  ! " 

I  drew  M.  de  Maiden  under  the  arch  of  the  Grand 
Pavilion,  but  he  would  proceed  no  farther  until  assured  of 
the  safety  of  the  King  and  Queen. 

During  this  time,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  terrible  mur- 
murs, they  saved  M.  de  Valory  and  M.  de  Moustier. 

Like  M.  de  Maiden,  M.  de  Valory  was  wounded;  but 
also  like  M.  de  Maiden,  his  wound  was  but  slight. 

At  this  moment,  the  Queen  cried,  in  a  suffocating  voice, 
"Help!  help!" 

In  getting  out  of  the  carriage,  she  found  herself  in  the 
arms  of  two  men,  who  regarded  her  with  looks  of  mortal 
enmity,  and  at  the  same  time  held  her  fast. 

These  two  men  were  M.  de  Aguillon  and  M.  de  Noailles. 
The  Queen  seemed  likely  to  faint  with  terror.  Both  said 
to  her,  "  Fear  nothing,  madame  ;  we  protect  you." 

At  the  peril  of  their  lives,  they  conducted  her  to  her 
room.  There  she  was  seized  with  agony.  She  called  the 
Dauphin — she  looked  for  the  Dauphin,  but  no  Dauphin  was 
there. 

Madame  Roy  ale  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  into 
the  bed-room,  and  pointed  out  to  her  the  Dauphin,  who, 
overcome  with  fatigue,  slept. 

She  could  not  believe,  after  the  threats  she  had  heard, 
13 


210  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

that  the  whole  of  the  royal  family  could  re-enter  their 
palace  safe  and  sound. 

I  returned  to  the  carriage,  where  still  remained  Madame 
Elizabeth  and  the  King. 

Barnave  thought  that  it  would  not  he  too  much  for  him 
and  Petion  to  safeguard  the  King. 

"  Some  one,"  cried  he — "  some  one  to  offer  Madame 
Elizabeth  an  arm." 

Madame  Elizabeth  descended  from  the  carriage  with  her 
usual  angelic  calmness. 

"Monsieur,"  said  she  to  me,  "will  you  give  me  your 
arm  ?  " 

I  was  frightened  out  of  my  wits. 

"  Oh,  madame,"  said  I ;  "  this  dress  ?  " 

"  The  dress  that  you  wear  is  far  better  than  a  royal  robe. 
And  besides,"  continued  she,  "I  have  watched  you:  you 
are  a  young  man  of  a  good  heart." 

I  threw  my  gun  over  my  shoulder,  and  took  my  hat  in 
my  hand. 

"Madame,"  said  I,  "if  you  desire  one  ready  to  die  for 
you— to  throw  down  his  life  in  3'our  behalf,  your  choice 
could  not  fall  on  one  better  than  myself." 

They  saw  Madame  Elizabeth  take  the  arm  of  a  simple 
National  Guard,  and  they  clapped  their  hands. 

Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  I  wished  to  retire. 

"  My  brother?  "  said  she,  trying  to  see. 

I  looked  back. 

"He  is  coming,"  said  I,  "between  M.  Barnave  and 
M.  Petion." 

I  then  bowed  to  Madame  Elizabeth  a  second  time. 

"  Will  you  not  return  to  see  us,  sir  ? "  asked  Madame 
Elizabeth. 

"I  fear,  madame,  that  I  shall  not  again  have  the  oppor- 
tunity of  being  of  service  to  you." 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  you  have  been  ;  and,  whatever  people 
may  say,  we  are  a  family  that  never  forget." 

At  this  moment  the  King  arrived. 

"  Thank  you,  gentlemen  ;  thank  you,"  said  he  to  Bar- 
nave and  Petion.  "  I  need  not  say  to  you  that  if  you  like 
to  come  up-stairs " 

"  Sire,"  replied  Barnave,    "  your  Majesty  and  her  Ma- 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  211 

jesty  the  Queen  are  at  prese#t  in  safety.     We  must  go  to 
render  an  account  of  our  mission  to  the  Assembly." 

They  bowed  to  the  King,  and  retired. 

I  did  the  same;  that  is  to  say,  I  bowed;  but  as  I  was 
retiring,  Madame  Elizabeth,  pointing  me  out  to  the  King, 
said,   "  My  brother,  this  young  man  ?  " 

She  evidently,  in  her  noble  heart,  did  not  wish  me  to  go 
without  some  recompense. 

"  Tis  true,"  said  the  King;  "I  forgot  that  he  was  your 
protege." 

"  8a}r,  rather,  that  I  am  his  'protege." 

He  took  me  by  the  collar  of  my  coat. 

"  Look  here,  young  man  ;  unhappy  as  we  are,  can  we  do 
nothing  to  help  you  ?  " 

1  felt  wounded  that  the  King  should  think  that  I  requir- 
ed to  be  paid  for  what  I  had  done. 

"Sire,"  replied  I,  "  if  you  make  a  promise  to  the  nation, 
keep  it ;  and,  as  a  citizen,  you  will  have  done  all  for  me 
that  I  can  ask." 

"  You  see,  sister,"  said  the  King,  "he  is  a  savage." 

"  What  is  your  name,  sir?  "  asked  Madame  Elizabeth. 

"  Rene  Besson." 

"  Whence  come  you  ?  " 

"  From  the  Forest  of  Argonne." 

"  I  told  you  he  was  a  savage,"  said  the  King.  "  What 
else  could  you  expect  ?  " 

"  What  trade  are  you  ?  " 

"  A  carpenter." 

"  My  brother,  you  know  the  fable  of  the  Lion  and  the 
Eat,"  said  Madame  Elizabeth. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  King,  "  you  see  that  I  must  enter 
my  house.  If  you  have  need  of  me.  ask  for  Clery,  my 
valet-de-chambre." 

"  Sire,"  replied  I,  "  a  man  who  has  an  occupation  has 
need  of  no  one,  much  less  of  a  King." 

The  King  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  mounted  the  stair- 
case.    Madame  Elizabeth  stayed  behind. 

"  But,  on  the  other  hand,  my  friend,"  said  she,  "  suppose 
that  we  have  need  of  }rou  ?  " 

"  Ah,  madame,"  cried  I,  "  that  is  another  affair  !  " 

"  In  that  case,  M.  Bene  Besson,  ask  for  Clery." 

She  followed  her  brother,  whilst  I  stood  there  motionless, 


212  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

regarding  that  angel  •who  knew  how  to  recompense  one  in 
asking. 

On  the  morrow,  the  journalist,  Prudhomme,  wrote  : — 

"  Certain  good  patriots,  in  whom  the  sentiment  of  loy- 
alty has  not  extinguished  that  of  compassion,  appear 
uneasy  concerning  the  moral  and  physical  state  of  Louis 
XVI  and  his  family,  after  a  journey  so  fatiguing  in  all 
respects  as  that  from  St.  Menehould. 

"  Let  them  reassure  themselves.  Our  friend,  on  entering 
his  apartments,  on  his  return,  felt  no  more  fatigue  than  if 
he  had  been  indulging  in  the  pleasures  of  the  chase. 

"  He  ate  his  chicken  as  usual,  and  the  next  day  played 
after  dinner  with  his  son. 

"As  for  the  mother,  she  took  a  bath  on  her  arrival. 
Her  first  request  was  for  boots ;  she  having  remarked  with 
sorrow,  that  hers  had  been  destroyed  by  travelling.  She 
acted  with  hauteur  to  the  officers  picked  out  especially  to 
guard  her,  and  said  that  it  was  ridiculous  and  indecent  to 
have  the  door  of  her  bath-room  and  bed-chamber  left 
open." 

We  quote  these  four  paragraphs  to  show  to  what  an 
extent  party  spirit  can  blind  men. 

The  Citizen  Prudhomme,  who,  after  having  written 
"  The  Revolutions  of  Paris  in  '91,"  was  to  write  "  The 
Crimes  of  the  Revolution  of  '98,"  wrongfully  describes  four 
incidents : — "  That  the  King  ate  a  fowl,  and  that  he  played 
with  his  son  ;  that  the  Queen  had  a  bath,  and  shut  her  door 
when  taking  it." 

It  is  always  so.  There  can  never  be  a  revolution  without 
a  Prudhomme  :  first,  to  glorify  them  :  and  then  to  grossly 
insult. 


>  »»^  » 


-CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

I    RESUME    MY    ORIGINAL     PROFESSION. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening.  I  went  to  look  after 
my  horse,  which  I  had  left  in  a  house  by  the  barrier.  They 
gave  it  back  to  me  as  promised,  and  I  retook  it  to  the 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  213 

Btables,  always  using  the  name  of  M.  Drouet.  I  took  a 
receipt  for  it,  and  at  ten  o'clock  I  entered  the  Eue  St. 
Honore. 

I  found  all  the  family  at  tahle,  as,  on  account  of  the 
day's  excitement,  the  supper,  which  usually  was  partaken 
of  at  eight  o'clock,  to-night  was  delayed  till  ten. 

Thej  raised  a  cry  of  joy  when  they  saw  me.  Maitre 
Duplay,  who  had  been  with  the  National  Guard  of  the 
Quartier  St.  Honore,  fancied  that  he  saw  me  at  the  door  of 
the  royal  carriage,  by  the  side  of  the  grenadiers  ;  but  the 
thing  appeared  so  improbable,  that  he  had  told  it  to  his 
family  more  as  a  delusion  than  a  fact. 

Scarcely  was  I  recognised,  than  the  two  girls  immediately 
made  a  space  for  me  between  them. 

This  was  the  more  easy,  as  the  elder  apprentice  was 
absent,  leaving  only  the  one  enamoured  of  Mdlle.  Cornelie, 
Felieien  Herda. 

I  did  not  want  much  pressing  to  sit  down  ;  I  was  literally 
dying  of  hunger  and  thirst.  The  young  girls  wished  to 
ask  me  questions  ;  but  M.  Duplay  excused  me  until  I  had 
both  eaten  and  drank. 

In  a  few  minutes,  I  rejoined  the  supper  eaters,  and  set 
myself  to  gratify  the  public  curiosity. 

It  was  necessary  for  me  to  recount  everything,  omitting 
no  details,  from  the  moment  when  M.  Drouet  appeared  to 
the  King  as  a  vision,  on  the  top  of  the  Hill  des  Eeligieuses, 
to  the  moment  when  the  carriage  started  from  the  house  of 
the  grocer,  Sauce,  and,  lastly,  to  their  arrival  at  the  gate  of 
the  Tuileries. 

It  can  be  easily  understood  with  what  avidity  my  tale 
was  devoured,  especially  by  the  women.  At  that  period, 
the  women  took  a  great  interest  in  the  Revolution.  Mad- 
ame Duplay,  Mdlle.  Cornelie,  and  Mdlle.  Estelle  made  me 
repeat  the  same  details  over  and  over  again  ;  and,  though 
they  had  a  sigh  for  Madame  Elizabeth,  the  Queen  was  ever 
au  Austrian — that  is  to  say,  an  enemy. 

It  was  now  eleven  o'clock.  Duplay,  bursting  with  the 
news  which  I  brought  him.  resolved  to  go  to  the  Jacobin 
Club.  There  was  no  doubt  but  that,  in  consequence  of  the 
great  events  taking  place,  the  club  would,  despite  the  late 
hour,  be  holding  a  sitting. 

He  asked  me  if  I  would   like  to  accompany  him ;  but, 


214  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.' 

indefatigable  though  I  was,  I  asked  his  permission  to  retire 
to  repose. 

They  gave  me  Dmuont's  chamber,  which  was  vacant,  on 
account  of  its  owner  having  left  the  shop  some  eight  days 
previously.  The  ladies  undertook  to  arrange  the  bed  drap- 
eries, and  perform  all  the  little  offices  which  come  so  grate- 
fully from  a  woman's  tender  hand  and  kind  heart.  Felicien 
commenced  by  scowling  at  me  ;  but  when  he  perceived  that 
upon  Estelle,  by  tacit  consent,  fell  the  greater  share  of  the 
labor  on  my  account,  his  brow  gradually  relaxed. 

Duplay  set  out  for  his  club.  They  then  informed  me 
that  my  chamber  was  ready.  It  was  the  first  time  for  four 
nights  that  I  had  slept  in  a  bed,  so  you  may  imagine  that 
I  stood  upon  no  ceremony.  1  made  a  hurried  bow  to  all, 
rushed  up  to  my  room ;  and,  on  arriving  there,  blessed 
Madame  Duplay  for  the  quantity  of  water  and  towels  that 
she  had  left  me — as  it  required  plenty  of  both  to  rid  me  of 
that  accursed  dust  of  Champagne,  with  which  I  seemed  to 
be  perfectly  coated. 

I  jumped  into  bed,  and,  in  a  second,  fell  into  the  most 
profound  sleep. 

On  the  next  morning,  I  was  awakened  by  M.  Duplay, 
after  a  most  persistent  shaking,  which,  in  my  sleep,  I 
attributed  to  other  causes. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he  ;  "  when  you  sleep  you  do  sleep,  and  no 
mistake,  you  drowsy  provincials." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  I.  "  It  is  you,  then,  who  have  been  trying 
to  awaken  me  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  who  tried  last  night,  but  could  not  succeed." 

"  What  did  you  wish  of  nie  ?  " 

"  Citizen  Rene  Besson,  I  fancied  that  you  would  excuse 
the  breach  of  hospitality,  when  you  knew  that  I  had  some- 
thing most  important  to  tell  you." 

"  Well,  I  am  all  attention,  M.  Duplay." 

"  Call  me  Citizen,"  said  Duplay,  pluming  himself. 

"  Well,  I  listen  to  you,  citizen." 

"  As  you  know,  I  went  to  the  club  last  night." 

"  Yes." 

"  There  I  met  M.  Chanderlos  de  Laclos." 

"  Citizen  Laclos,  you  mean,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  stand  corrected.  All  men  are  now  equal.  Well,  I 
met  Citizen  Laclos,  and  told  him  all  that  you  had  related 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  215 

to  me  concerning  the  joiirne}^  of  tlie  King  to  Paris.  Do 
you  know  what  he  asked  me  ?  He  asked  me  to  take  you 
to  the  Palais  Royal,  in  order  that  30U  may  give  your  ver- 
sion of  the  affair  to  the  Due  d'Orleans." 

"  I  ?" 

"  Yes,  thou  !  In  the  meantime,  you  had  better  dress 
yourself." 

u  Do  I  go  this  morning,  then  ?  " 

"  Between  nine  and  ten  o'clock." 

"  What  time  is  it  now  ?  " 

"Half-past  eight." 

"  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  my  only  costume  is  that 
of  a  National  Guard  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  costume  of  patriots." 

"  1  Jut  still,  when  one  goes  near  princes!  Does  my  coat 
want  brushing  ?  " 

"  Leave  that  to  Catherine.  You  occupy  yourself  with 
putting  on  a  clean  shirt,  if  you  have  any.  1  will  see  that 
your  clothes  and  boots  are  brushed.  If  j'-ou  have  not  any 
dean  linen,  I  can  lend  you  some." 

"  Thank  you;  I  have  all  that  I  require  in  my  bag." 

"  Dress,  then  ;  don't  waste  time." 

And  Maitre  Duplay,  Republican  though  he  was,  enchant- 
ed to  conduct  me  before  a  prince,  took  my  coat,  hat,  trous- 
ers and  boots,  down  stairs  for  Catherine  to  brush. 

At  nine  o'clock  exactly,  I  was  ready. 

We  went  along  the  Rue  St.  Honore  to  the  Rue  de 
Valois,  and,  arm-in-arm,  entered  the  Palais  Royal  by  the 
gate  which  opens  into  that  street. 

Maitre  Duplay  gave  his  name.  Citizen  Laclos  had,  no 
doubt,  given  previous  orders,  for  we  were  immediately 
admitted. 

Arrived  at  the  first  floor,  no  sooner  had  Dnplay  given 
his  name,  than  they  sent  at  once  for  M.  Chanderlos  de 
Laclos. 

M.  Chanderlos  de  Laclos  rushed  up. 

"  Is  this  the  }'oung  fellow  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Himself,"  replied  M.  Duplay. 

"  Let  him  come  into  the  presence  of  his  Highness." 

He  conducted  me  along  a  straight  corridor  into  a  bou- 
doir, which  led  into  a  bedroom,  the  open  door  of  which 
allowed  me  to  see  that  the  bed  was  unmade.     The   open 


216  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

windows,  with  the  closed  jalousies,  gave  access  to  a  most 
refreshing  breeze. 

His  Royal  Highness,  clothed  in  a  dressing-gown,  made 
of  cashmere,  with  a  cap  to  match,  was  sipping  tea — a  new 
fashion  imported  from  England  ;  every  one  knows  that  his 
Highness  was  thoroughly  English — with  a  charming  dame 
of  twenty-nine  or  thirty  years  of  age,  clothed  in  an  elegant 
morning  dress,  and  who  was,  as  I  afterward  learnt,  Madame 
Buffo  u. 

M.  le  Due  d'Orleans,  afterwards  so  celebrated  under  the 
name  of  Philip  Egalite,  was  a  man  of  from  forty-four  to 
forty-five  years  of  age  ;  a  fat,  full  figure,  red  complexion, 
with  a  good  carriage,  but  the  head  a  little  too  large — who, 
on  account  of  a  quarrel  with  the  Queen,  had  been  cruelly 
and  unjustly  treated  b}'  the  court  of  inquiiy  into  the  naval 
engagement  at  Ouessant,  where  he  had  comported  himself 
most  bravely. 

The  result  of  this,  on  his  side,  was  a  most  bitter  hatred 
of  the  Queen. 

He  received  me  with  a  nod  of  the  head ;  Madame  de 
Buffon  regarded  me  with  curiosity.  I  was-  far  from  being 
elegant,  hut  I  possessed  great  propriety  of  manner.  With- 
out being  handsome,  I  was  at  an  age  when  youth  supplies 
the  want  of  beauty.  I  was  tall,  well-made,  with  an  open 
expression  of  countenance,  and  a  well-knit  frame.  The 
loyalty  of  my  heart  beamed  upon  my  face.  In  short,  I 
made  the  same  impression  upon  the  Due  d'Orleans  and 
Madame  de  Buffon  as  I  had  upon  the  King,  the  Queen, 
and  Madame  Elizabeth — that  of  being  a  well-looking  lad. 

"  You  come  from  Varennes,  my  friend  ? "  said  the 
Duke. 

"  Yes.  monseigneur,"  replied  I. 

"  And  you  saw  all  that  passed  at  the  grocer's — what  do 
you  calThim  ?  " 

"  Sauce,  monseigneur." 

"  So  it  is.  And  you  also  saw  what  took  place  on  the 
road  ?  " 

"  Monseigneur,  I  have  not  lost  sight  of  the  royal  family 
since  their  arrest." 

"Aha!  There  is  a  lady,  a  thorough  Royalist.  She 
wishes  to  know  all  that  has  happened  to  her  good  King 
and  dear  Queen,.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  give  her  a 
history  of  it  ?  " 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  217 

I  commenced  the  account.  "When  I  mentioned  Drouet, 
the  Duke  interrupted  me  to  ask  particulars  about  him. 
When  I  mentioned  M.  Dampierre,  lie  made  another  inter- 
ruption. He  made  another  when  J  mentioned  Baruave, 
Petion,  and  Latour-Maubourg ;  in  fact,  he  wished  tu  know 
even  the  minutest   particulars. 

Before  I  had  finished,  "Go  and  find  Chartres,"  he  said  to 
M.  de  Laclos: 

M.  de  Lacloa  wont  out;  I  continued  my  recital. 

It  was  nearly  brought  to  an  end.  when  the  door  opened, 
and  gave  entrance  to  a  handsome  young  man.  whom  1  had 
already  seen  at  the  Jacobin  Club  on  the  occasion  of  my  first 
visit  to  Paris. 

The  young  Prince  bowed  respectfully  to  his  father,  gal- 
lantly kissed  Madame  Buffon's  hand,  threw  a  scrutinizing 
glance  on  me,  and  seemed  to  bend  his  whole  attention  on 
what  was  passing. 

"  I  regret  not  having  summoned  you  before,  Chartres," 
said  the  Duke.  "  Here  is  a  young  man  who  came  to  tell 
us  an  extremely  interesting  history  of  the  journey  from  Va- 
rennes.  He  knew  M.  Drouet  well — knew  also  the  unhappy 
Comte  de  Dampierre.  He  has  seen  the  commissioners  sent 
by  the  National  Assembly.  He  has  seen  all,  in  fact;  and 
all  he  has  seen,  he  has  retained;  and  I  am  sure  3-ou  would 
have  felt  great  pleasure  in  listening  to  his  recital.-' 

"  But,"  said  the  Due  de  Chartres,  "  perhaps  this  young 

gentleman  will   have   the    kindness "     Then,  stopping, 

and  looking  at  his  lather,  "  Better  still,"  continued  he  ; 
"just  as  M.  Laclos  told  me  that  you  wished  to  see  me,  I 
was  going  to  breakfast." 

The  Due  d'Orleans  appeared  to  understand,  and  nodded 
his  head  imperceptibly*  M.  le  Due  de  Chartres  did  the 
same,  pointing  to  me. 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  breakfast  with  me  ? — and, 
during  the  meal,  you  can  relate  the  whole  affair." 

I  addressed  myself  to  M.  Laclos. 

"'Tis  for  me,"  said  I  to  him,  "  to  thank  his  Highness  for 
the  great  honor  which  he  has  conferred  upon  me  ;  but  it  is 
for  you  to  explain  to  him  that  I  have  left  in  the  entrance- 
hall  some  one  who  awaits  me  ;  but  that  will  not  prevent  me 
from  giving  Monseigneur,"  continued  I,  turning  to  Due 
d  Orleans,  "  the  recital  which  I  have  just  given  you." 


218  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

"  But,"  said  the  Due  de  Chartres,  smiling,  "  it  will  pre- 
vent you  from  accepting  ni}7  breakfast." 

"  Monseigneur,"  said  I,  "  I  am  apprenticed  to  M.  Duplay, 
your  carpenter.  It  was  he  who  had  the  goodness  to  tell 
M.  Laelos  that.I  should  have  the  honor  of  being  received  this 
morning  by  the  Prince,  your  father.  It  would  be  but  a  bad 
return,  I  think,  for  his  kindness  were  I  to  leave  him  wait- 
ing in  the  antechamber — he  who  is  my  master, — whilst  I 
had  the  honor  of  breakfasting  with  you.  Excuse  me,"  said 
I,  laughing.  "  I  am  a  savage  from  the  forest  of  Argonne ; 
but,  in  all  cases,  1  know  Monseigneur  to  be  sufficiently  just 
and  good  to  make  him  my  judge  in  this  case,  and  I  promise 
faithfully  to  comply  with  his  decree." 

"  But,  sir,"  said  Madame  de  Buffon,  "  do  you  know  that, 
for  a  savage From  what  forest  said  you  ?  " 

"  The  Forest  of  Argonne." 

"  You  express  yourself  well.  One  w-ould  think  that  all 
your  life  you  had  been  talking  to  princes." 

"  I  have  not  all  my  life  spoken  to  princes,  but  princes 
have  often  done  me  the  honor  to  speak  to  me." 

"  Truly  !     Who  were  they  ?  " 

"  M.  le  Prince  de  Conde  and  M.  le  Due  d'Enghien. 
They  used  to  hunt  in  the  Forest  of  Argonne,  and  M. 
d'Enghien  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  me  with  him." 

"  Well,  nothing  can  astonish  me,  after  this ! "  cried 
Madame  de  Buffon. 

"  Did  you  see  my  cousin  just  before  his  departure  ? " 
asked  the  Due  de  Chartres. 

"  I  am  probably  the  last  Frenchman  to  whom  he  paid  the 
honor  of  shaking  his  hand." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  accept  my  offer,  and  breakfast 
with  me." 

"  That  is  my  affair,"  said  the  Due.  "  Dear  lady, 
methinks  I  heard  you  say  that  you  have  some  carpentry 
work  to  be  done  in  your  apartments.  I,  for  my  part,  have 
several  orders  to  give  Duplay.  Let  him  be  brought  up, 
M.  Laclos  :  we  will  give  him  our  commands  ourselves.  Let 
him  pass  through  the  salle-d-manger,  and  there  he  can 
drink  a  health  to  the  nation,  in  a  glass  of  wine,  with  these 
young  gentlemen." 

Thus  was  the  affair  arranged. 

I  told  the  Due  de  Chartres,  while  breakfasting  with  him, 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  219 

all  that  related  to  our  hunting  expeditions  in  the  Forest  of 
Argonne,  to  my  education,  the  dvath  of  Fere  Deseharmes, 
ni}'  sojourn  at  Varennes,  the  arrest  of  the  King,  and  the  re- 
turn to  Paris. 

"  You  are  only  half-armed,  my  dear  M.  K.'-nc,"  said  the 
Due  de  Chartres,  when  leaving  me.  "  My  cousin  of  Enghien 
gave  you  a  gun  :  allow  rue  to  present  you  with  a  pair  oi*}.is- 
tols." 

He  then  took  down  a  pair  from  a  trophy — they  were  of 
Versailles  manufacture — and  insisted  on  my  accepting  them, 
as  they  matched  my  gun  in  pattern. 

When  I  say  insisted,  perhaps  I  exaggerated  a  little,  as 
nothing  could  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  accept  his 
present. 

As  for  Duplay,  he  received  an  order  of  the  value  of  5,000 
francs,  and  drank  with  the  Due  de  Chartres  to  the  health  of 
the  nation,  so  that  he  returned  home  in  the  best  of  spirits, 
rejoiced  to  have  combined,  in  his  morning's  visit,  pleasure 
and  profit. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

TOUCHING    THE    PRINCESS    LAMBALLE. 

It  will  easily  he  imagined  that  the  event  of  which  I  am 
treating  was  the  subject  of  conversation  for  fifteen  days  in 
the  house  of  Duplay  in  which  I  was  apprentice,  in  the  place 
of  D  urn  out. 

Felicieri,  seeing  that  I  entertained  for  Mdlle.  Cornelie  and 
jNIdlle.  Estelle  only  such  affection  as  every  well-educated 
man  ought  to  have  for  women,  drew  in  his  nails  and  teeth, 
and  became  as  good  a  comrade  towards  me  as  it  was  possi- 
ble for  him  to  be. 

Still  the  revolution  marched  on  with  gigantic  strides  ;  the 
flight  to  Varennes  having  given  it  a  terrible  impetus. 

On  the  27th  and  28th  June,  the  Assembly  promulgated 
the  following  decrees  : — 

"  The  gard  du  corps  is  disbanded. 


220  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

"  The  King  will  be  given  a  guard,  under  the  command  of 
the  commander  of  the  Parisian  National  Guard,  to  contrib- 
ute to  his  safety  and  well  being. 

"  The  Queen  will  have  a  private  guard  of  her  own. 

"  Upon  the  events  of  the  21st  of  June,  the  Assembly 
will  nominate  three  commissioners,  selected  from  their  whole 
body,  to  receive  the  declaration  of  the  King  and  Queen. 

"  The  sanction,  the  acceptance  of  the  King,  and  all  his 
legislative  and  executive  functions,  are  suspended. 

"  The  ministers  are  authorized,  each  in  his  own  depart- 
ment, and  on  his  own  responsibility,  to  assume  the  execu- 
tive power." 

The  three  commissioners  were  MM.  Touche,  Dandre^  and 
Dupont. 

There  was,  therefore,  as  can  be  readily  seen,  positive 
suspension  of  the  functions  of  royalty. 

This  private  guard  of  the  "Queen's  was  a  torment  to  her 
every  day — every  hour — every  minute. 

We  have  seen  Prudhomme  astonished  that  the  Queen, 
having  worn-out  shoes,  should  require  new  ones,  and  that 
she  should  consider  it  indecent  to  leave  open  the  doors  of 
her  bath  and  her  bed  room. 

In  fact,  the  National  Guard,  frightened  of  the  responsi- 
bility placed  on  their  shoulders,  literally  kept  the  Queen  in 
eyesight,  and  compelled  her  to  keep  open  the  doors  of  her 
bathing  and  bed-room.  Once,  the  Queen,  inspired  with  a 
natural  feeling  of  modesty,  having  drawn  the  curtains  of 
her  bed  the  man  on  guard  drew  them  back,  for  fear  that 
she  should  escape  by  the  staircase.  On  another  occasion, 
the  King  having  come  to  visit  her  about  one  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  having  shut  the  door  of  the  apartment — not  of  the 
Queen,  but  of  his  wife — the  sentinel  thrice  opened  it,  say- 
ing, "  Shut  it  as  often  as  you  like  ;  I  shall  open  it  every 
time  that  you  shut  it  1  " 

Happily,  in  this  misery,  the  Queen  found  a  friend. 
This  friend  was  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  whose  history  is 
so  well  known  that  it  is  needless  for  me  to  touch  upon  it. 

She  was,  however,  through  all  vicissitudes,  a  faithful  and 
affectionate  friend  to  the  Queen. 

About  the  commencement  of  1701,  after  the  death  of 
Mirabeau,  the  political  horizon  became  so  black  that  the 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  221 

King  and  Queen,  the  Count  de  Fersen,  and  Madame 
Elizabeth,  all  counselled  the  Princess  to  fly  to  Sardinia. 
Even  the  Pope,\Pius  the  Sixth  himself,  insisted  thai  she 
should  visit  Rome,  to  rejoin  the  friends  of  the  King,  who 
having  raised  in  the  Assembly  the  famous  storm  concern- 
ing the  right  of  emigration  sustained  by  Mirabeau,  had  hap- 
pily crossed  the  frontier ;  but  she  firmly  rejected  all  such 
proposals. 

The  Due  de  Penthievre  who  loved  her  as  if  she  were  his 
daughter,  and  the  Duchess  of  Orleans,  who  admired  her 
courage,  wished  by  sonic  means  to  force  her  to  leave 
France.  The  Due  persuaded  Louis  the  Sixteenth  to  write 
to  the  Court  at  Turin,  in  order  that  the  King  ol  Sardinia, 
as  head  of  the  family,  should  interpose  his  influence  to 
compel  the  Princess  to  return  to  his  dominions. 

Here  is  the  reply  of  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  : — 

"  Sire  and  Respected  Cousin, — 

'"  I  do  not  remember  that  any  of  our  illustrious  ances- 
tors of  the  House  of  Savoy,  before  or  after  the  great 
Charles  Emmanuel,  of  illustrious  memory,  ever  disgraced 
themselves  b}'  an  act  of  treachery.  I  should  do  so  were  I 
to  quit  the  Court  of  France  at  this  critical  juncture.  You 
will  excuse  my  refusing  your  truly  royal  invitation.  The 
shedding  of  blood,  and  the  madness  of  the  States,  alike 
command  that  one  and  all  should  unite  their  efforts  for  the 
preservation  of  the  King  and  Queen  and  the  royal  family 
of  France.  It  is  impossible  to  shake  my  resolution.  I 
have  determined,  once  and  for  all,  never  to  abandon,  at  a 
moment  when  they  are  forsaken  by  their  oldest  servants, 
those  who  have  none  to  look  to  but  me. 

"  In  happier  days,  your  Majesty  can  count  on  my  obedi- 
ence ;  but  to-daj-,  as  the  Court  of  France  is  open  to  the 
persecutions  of  its  most  atrocious  enemies,  I  beg  humbly 
the  right  of  following  my  own  instincts  of  right.  At  the 
most  brilliant  epoch  of  the  reign  of  Marie  Antoinette,  I 
felt  the  warmth  of  royal  favor,  and  can  I  now  abandon 
her?  To  do  so,  sire,  would  be  to  set  the  seal  of  eternal 
infamy  not  only  on  my  brow,  but  on  those  of  all  mj'  rela- 
tions; and  I  fear  that  more  than  all  other  torments." 

It  was  then  that  the  Queen  employed  a  ruse  to  get  her 
to  quit  France. 


222  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

She  had  heen  sent  once  hefore  on  a  mission  from  the 
Queen  to  England  ;  and  the  inherent  grace  of  the  family 
of  Savoy — the  same  which  made  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy 
so  powerful  over  Louis  XIV' — enabled  her  to  obtain  from 
the  King  and  Queen  of  England  a  promise  never  to  forsake 
the  King  and  Queen  of  France. 

The  moment  to  recall  that  promise  to  the  English  Court 
had  arrived.  The  Queen  desired  the  Princess  de  Lamballe 
to  set  out  for  London,  and  continue  the  negotiations 
already  so  happily  commenced.  She  therefore  left  Paris, 
and  reached  England,  stopping  at  Calais,  at  the  famous 
"  Hotel  Dessein,"  immortalized  by  Sterne  in  his  "  Senti- 
mental Journey." 

It  was  whilst  in  London  that  the  Princess  learnt  the 
flight  to  Varennes,  the  return  of  the  royal  family,  and  their 
imprisonment  in  the  Tuiieries.  She  sent  a  young  English 
girl,  in  whom  she  had  the  utmost  confidence,  to  Paris. 

This  messenger  appeared  close  to  the  Queen.  She  had 
come  in  the  name  of  the  Princess,  to  learn  the  exact  situa- 
tion in  which  the  family  were  placed. 

The  Queen  sent  her  a  letter,  and  a  ring,  enclosing  a  lock 
of  her  hair,  as  white  as  if  her  years  numbered  eighty. 

On  the  ring  was  inscribed,  "Whitened  by  sorrow." 

I  give,  underneath,  an  exact  copy  of  the  letter : — 

"  My  Very  Dear  Eriend, — 

"  The  King  is  about  to  accept  the  Constitution.  In  a 
short  time,  he  will  be  solemnly  proclaimed.  A  few  days 
since,  I  held  a  secret  consultation  in  your  apartment,  with 
some  of  our  most  trusty  friends,  among  whom  were  Alex- 
andre Lameth,  Duport,  Barnave,  Montmarni,  Bertrand  de 
Malville.  These  two  last  combated  against  the  counsel  of 
those  of  the  Ministry,  and  others,  who  advised  the  King  to 
accept  the  Constitution  immediately,  and  without  restric- 
tions ;  but  they  formed  too  feeble  a  minority  for  me  to 
decide,  as  they  wished  to  pray  the  King  to  pay  heed  to 
their  opinion.  All  the  others  seemed  to  think  that  the  con- 
trar}r  measure  would  re-establish  tranquillit}',  weaken  the 
party  of  the  Jacobins,  our  enemies,  and  enlarge  greatly  the 
number  of  our  partizans  in  the  nation.  Your  absence  com- 
pelled me  to  call  Elizabeth  to  our  aid,  to  clear  the  Pavilion 
of  Elora  of  spies.     She  did  not  acquit  herself  very  well. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  223 

Poor  Elizabeth  !  you  cannot  expect  much  cunning  or  cir- 
cumspection in  a  woman  so  little  accustomed  to  the 
intrigues  of  a  Court,  and  to  the  dangers  which  surrounded 
us.  They  try  to  persuade  us  that  we  are  in  no  clanger. 
Would  that  it  were  so,  and  that  1  could  again  open  my 
arms  and  heart  freely,  to  receive  my  best  friend  !  Although 
these  are  the  most  anient  aspirations  of  my  heart,  never- 
theless, my  dear,  my  very  dear  Lamhalle,  pay  heed  to  noth- 
ing but  your  own  inspirations.  Some  people  Bay  that  they 
see  the  future  brilliant  as  the  sun  at  mid-day.  For  my 
part,  I  confess,  it  seems  covered  with  clouds.  I  cannot  see 
future  events  with  all  the  security  that  I  could  wish.  The 
King,  Elizabeth,  myself, — in  fact,  all  the  family — wish 
much  to  see  you  ;  but  we  should  be  horrified  at  the  thought 
of  dragging  you  into  the  midst  of  events  equally  fearful  as 
those  you  have  already  witnessed." 

''Reflect,  then,  and  act  as  you  think  best.  If  we  cannot 
see  you,  send  us  the  result  of  your  conferences  with  the 
Precipice.*  Your  young  English  friend  will  bring  you 
plenty  of  letters.  "Will  you  have  them  sent  to  their  res- 
pective addresses  as  quickly  as  possible,  either  by  her,  or  in 
any  other  way  that  you  may  consider  more  fitting  ? 

"  Your  affectionate 

"  Marie  Antoinette." 

On  receiving  this  letter,  the  Princess  left  London,  wdiere 
she  was  in  safety,  and,  without  the  slightest  hesitation,  re- 
turned to  the  Tuileries,  to  take  her  place  by  the  side  of  the 
Queen. 

But  whilst  Madame  de  Lamhalle  was  at  London,  great 
events  were  taking  place  in  Paris.  The  letter  which  we 
have  quoted,  although  undated,  is  virtually  dated,  through 
the  fact  that  the  Queen  speaks  of  the  King's  accepting  the 
Constitution  ;  and  it  was  on  the  3rd  of  September  only  that 
a  deputation  from  the  National  Assembly  presented  the  Act 
of  the  Constitution  for  the  acceptance  of  the  King. 

Let  us  now  retrace  our  steps  a  little,  and  throw  a  glance 
at  that  terrible  day,  the  17th  of  July — day  of  the  Champs 
de  Mars  —  day  of  the  red  flag,  which  in  1848,  furnished 
to  M.  de  Lamartine,  one  of  his  most  wonderful  oratorical 
efforts. 

*  A  name  the  Queen  gave  to  Pitt. 


224  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

CHAPTEE  XL. 

THE     TIDE     RISES. 

The  Queen  was  right  in  not  viewing  events  in  the  same 
light  as  those  who  surrounded  her. 

Firstly,  the  struggle  was  hetween  the  Assemhly  and  the 
Court.     The  Assembly  won  the  day. 

Then  it  was  between  the  Constitutionals  and  the  Aristo- 
crats. The  Constitutionals  won  the  day.  Now  itwras  to  be 
between  the  Constitutionals  and  the  Republicans. 

It  is  true  that  the  Republicans  had  only  just  begun  to 
appear,  but  in  their  first  birth  they  formed  this  terrible 
principle — No  more  monarchy! 

You  will  remember  that  the  commissioners  had  been 
appointed  by  the  Assembly  to  examine  Louis  XVI. 

These  three  declared,  in  the  name  of  their  seven  com- 
mittees, that  they  had  found  no  reason  to  put  Louis  XVI 
on  his  trial. 

The  Assembly  took  the  opinion  of  the  commissioners, 
but  the  Jacobin  Club  refused  its  sanction  to  the  Assembly. 
The  Assembly  had  then  above  it  a  high  chamber,  which 
could  annihilate  its  decisions  with  its  veto. 

In  order  to  understand  the  situation  and  the  events  about 
to  take  place,  it  is  necessary  to  say  that  at  this  juncture 
there  were  oposed  to  each  other,  three  distinct  parties. 

The  Royalists  who  wished  the  King  absolute — that  is  to 
say,  without  the  Constitution ;  the  Constitutionals,  who 
wished  the  King  with  a  Constitution  ;  and  the  Republi- 
cans, who  wished  neither  King  nor  Constitution,  but  a 
republic. 

The  Assembly,  as  we  have  said,  voted  that  there  was  no 
necessity  to  put  the  King  on  trial. 

But,  through  concession  to  the  public  feeling,  it  had 
voted  two  measures — one  preventive,  the  other  repressive. 

This  was  the  repressive  measure. 

"  That  Bouille,  and  all  servants,  officers,  couriers,  and 
accomplices  in  the  flight,  should  be  prosecuted." 

This  was  the  preventive  measure: — 

"  That  if  a  king  breaks  his  oath,  or  attacks,  or  does  not 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  225 

defend,  his  people,  he  shall  be  cast  from  his  throne,  become 
a  simple  citizen,  and  be  tried  for  the  offences  committed 
previous  to  his  degradation," 

The  repressive  measure  was  one  of  those  timid  ones 
proper  to  a  decayed  Assembly,  which  feels  that  its  power  is 
crumbling  away. 

During  some  days,  or,  rather,  nights,  the  Jacobin  sitting 
became  stormy. 

During  the  sitting,  in  which  the  true  culprit — that  is  to 
say,  the  King — \\;is  left  alone,  in  order  to  arrest  and  punish 
the  minor  offenders — that  is  to  say,  BouilM,  Fersen,  the 
gardes  du  corps,  and  Madame  de  Tourzel, — M.  Robespierre 
asked  in  vain  to  have  the  report  distributed,  and  the  dis- 
cussion adjourned. 

As  it  was  known  in  advance  that  the  discussion  would  be 
stormy,  Robespierre  went  to  the  club.  He  had  been  ac- 
cused, at  the  Assembly,  of  republicanism,  and — mark  this 
well, — on  the  13th  of  July  1791,  Eobespierre  did  not  disdain 
to  again  avow  himself  a  Republican. 

On  that  evening,  we  all  went  to  the  Jacobins  ;  M.  Du- 
play  and  myself  in  the  superior  hall,  and  the  three  women 
and  Felicien  in  the  inferior,  where  a  society  was  held,  called 
the  Society  of  the  Two  Sexes. 

During  my  absence  from  Paris,  Eobespierre  had  acquired 
a  great  popularity,  to  which  he  had  succeeded  by  degrees. 
He  had  still  the  same  voice,  though,  perhaps,  he  spoke  av 
little  stronger  than  the  last  time  that  I  had  heard  him  ;  and 
I  fancied  that  I  noted  a  marked  progress  in  his  intonation, 
but  still  the  same  spinning-out  of  his  facts. 

He  had  just  finished  his  discourse,  when  a  great  disturb- 
ance was  heard.  It  was  the  Cordeliers1"  Club,  which,  in  the 
persons  of  Danton  and  Legendre,  had  made  an  irruption 
among  the  Jacobins. 

They  were  neither  vague  nor  lengthy  in  their  demands. 

Danton,  in  an  outburst  of  ironic  thunder,  demanded  how 
the  Society  dared  to  take  upon  itself  to  pronounce  reformed 
opinions  before  the  nation  had  done  so  ?  Legendre  directly 
attacked  the  King — called  to  reason  the  societies  who, 
working  in  an  underground  manner,  underminded  the  deci- 
sions of  the  Assembly,  and  terminated  in  saying,  "  What 
1  say  is  for  the  good  of  the  Assembly  itself." 

There  was  almost  a  menace  expressed  in  these  last  words. 
14 


226  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

Keeping  calm  and  cold  during  Robespierre's  speech,  M.  de 
Laclos,  the  intendant  of  the  Due  d'Orleans,  applauded  ve- 
hemently Danton  and  Legendre. 

The  Constitutionals  of  the  Assembly  got  up,  and  went 
out. 

Danton  and  Laclos  conferred  together  an  instant  in  a 
whisper  ;  then  a  voice  was  heard,  crying,  "  Open  the  doors 
for  the  public  deputies  !  " 

The  doors  opened,  and  there  entered  the  fraternal  Socie- 
ty of  the  Halles,  and  the  Society  of  the  Two  Sexes,  which 
held  its  meetings  in  the  Lower  Hall.  They  carried  address- 
es against  the  Assembly,  or,  rather,  against  the  monarchy. 

Preoccupied  with  Danton  and  Legendre,  I  lost  a  part  of 
the  thread  of  what  passed  at  the  tribune.  A  young  surgeon 
read  a  letter,  which  had  been  written  in  the  Palais  Ro}'al 
in  the  presence  of  three  hundred  persons.  A  bishop  threw 
himself  into  his  arms,  and  urged  him  to  oppose  the  deputies. 
Robespierre  looked  on  with  his  sardonic  smile ;  Danton, 
Legendre,  and  Laclos  with  a  hateful  grin. 

Robespierre  saw  not  what  was  going  on  on  the  other  side 
of  Paris,  but  probably  Danton  knew  ;  and  that  was  what 
he  was  recounting  in  a  whisper  to  Laclos,  and  what  Laclos 
was  listening  to  with  such  attention. 

On  the  other  side  of  Paris  was  a  club — a  fraternal  socie- 
ty,— in  the  midst  of  which  rested  a  young  man,  who  was 
secretary  to  the  club,  in  oblivion.  This  young  man  one 
day  emerged  from  his  obscurity,  to  raise  around  him  a 
gigantic  storm,  after  which  he  again  subsided  into  medioc- 
rity.    The  name  of  this  young  man  was  Callieu. 

What  was  Callieu  doing  in  this  fraternal  society  ?  Al- 
most nothing.  He  prepared  an  address  against  the  Assem- 
bly, signed     "  The  People  !  " 

On  the  day  before  that  evening — how  I  came  to  forget  to 
mention  it,  I  cannot  think, — the  12th  of  July,  there  was  a 
great  disturbance  in  Paris.  All  hats  were  waving  in  a 
burst  of  enthusiasm. 

On  Sunday,  the  10th,  the  body  of  Voltaire  ought  to  have 
been  removed  to  the  Pantheon,  but  the  weather  was  unpro- 
pitious;  and  there  was  no  fete  in  Paris,  on  account  of  the 
rain.  The  removal  of  Voltaire's  corse  was  therefore  post- 
poned till  the  morrow. 

The   triumphal   procession    entered   by   the   barrier  of 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  227 

Charenton  ;  and  accompanied  by  an  immense  crowd,  drawn 
by  horses  presented  by  the  Queen,  the  bier  crossed  Paris, 
and  stopped  at  the  house  where  the  author  of  the  "Phi- 
losophic Dictionary"  had  died. 

There  they  sang  choruses  to  his  glory.  The  Galas  family, 
led  by  Madame  de  Vilette,  laid  down  crowns  on  the  sar- 
cophagus, before  the  temple  of  Flora,  which  was  closed,  on 
the  pretence  of  the  absence  of  Madame  de  Lamballe. 

On  the  12th,  Voltaire  entered  the  Pantheon.  On  the 
13th,  in  the  morning,  they  played  a  sacred  drama,  with  a 
grand  chorus  and  orchestra,  in  Notre  Dame.  It  was  entit- 
led, "  Le  Prise  de  la  Pastille." 

In  the  evening,  Danton  and  Legendre  came  to  the  Jaco- 
bins, and  turned  out  the  Constitutionals;  whilst  at  the 
club  on  the  other  side  of  Paris  they  were  signing  an  address 
against  the  Assembly. 

On  the  14th,  the  anniversary  of  the  taking  of  the  Bas- 
tille, when  a  drama  was  performed  on  the  subject,  the 
Bishop*of  Paris  performed  mass  at  the  altar  of  the  country 
in  the  midst  of  the  rain. 

Each  day  now  brought  an  event.  On  the  evening  of  the 
loth,  the  Assembly  voted  not  only  that  the  King  should 
be  brought  to  judgment,  but  that  his  offices  should  be  sus- 
pended until  he  agreed  to  swear  to  the  Constitution. 

The  Constitutionals  carried  it. 

The  Assembly  knew  so  well  that  it  had  committed  an 
unpopular  act,  that  it  demanded  to  be  protected  by  Lafay- 
ette and  5,000  men,  without  counting  the  National  Guard 
and  the  pikes  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine. 

The  crowd  which  could  not  enter — and  their  name  was 
legion — took  up  a  position  on  the  other  side  of  the  citizen 
guard,  who  made  a  ring  round  the  Hiding  Hall. 

The  moment  the  vote  became  known  to  the  crowd,  they 
yelled  "  Treason  ! "  and  re-entered  Paris  by  its  three  great 
arteries,  the  Boulevards,  the  Bue  St.  Honore,  and  the  street 
which  is  now  known  by  that  name.  They  then  began  to 
shut  the  theatres  and  the  houses  of  play  and  pleasure,  and 
in  consequence  of  the  disturbance,  the  police  themselves 
closed  two  or  three  theatres. 

Little  work  was  done  in  these  days  of  ebullition. 
M.  Duplay  sent  me  to  see  what  was  going  on  at  the  As- 
sembly ;  I  returned  to  announce  to  him  the  triumph  of 
the  King. 


228  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

"  Good  !  "  said  he.  "  Let  us  get  over  supper  quickly, 
and  then  off  to  the  Jacobins.  There  will  be  a  disturbance 
there  this  evening." 

M.  Duplay  was  right. 

Robespierre  was  in  the  tribune.  He  attached,  in  the 
midst  of  vociferous  plaudits,  the  vote  of  the  Assembly. 
When  he  had  finished,  M.  Laclos  took  his  place.  You  must 
not  forget  that  Laclos.  was  the  intendant  of  the  Due  d'Or- 
leans.  He  demanded  that  a  bulletin  should  be  issued,  pro- 
claiming the  forfeiture. 

"There  will  be,"  said  he,    "ten  million  signatures." 

"Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  the  spectators,  with  one  voice.  "  Ten, 
fifteen,  twenty  millions !  The  women  and  children,  even, 
shall  be  compelled  to  sign  !  " 

A  powerful  voice  shook  the  nation.  It  was  Danton's. 
For  some  days  the  Cordeliers  had  fraternized  with  the 
Jacobins,  and  Danton  walked  with  Robespierre. 

"Only,"  said  Danton,  in  a  low  voice,  "let  us  have  no 
women.  They  are  generally  Royalists.  The}'  would  vote 
for  the  deposal  of  a  King  only  in  order  to  raise  up  another." 

Saying  these  words,  he  stared  fixedly  at  the  author  of 
"Liaisons  Dangereuses."  Not  a  smile  nor  a  frown  ruffled 
the  habitually  stern  features  of  Laclos. 

Perceiving  the  silence  kept  bj'  the  Duke  of  Orleans'  man, 
he  added,  "  And  more,  I  prefer  an  address  to  the  adopted 
societies  to  a  public  one." 

Laclos  said  nothing,  but  appeared  as  if  listening  to  some- 
thing outside  the  building. 

All  at  once,  a  large  mass  of  people  entered  the  club. 
They  were  what  were  called  the  Lucks  of  the  Palais  Royal, 
dragging  with  them  about  fifty  young  women  of  questiona- 
ble character. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  "  murmured  Danton.  "  'Tis  a  planned 
affair  ! " 

All  the  newly-arrived  mixed  with  the  Jacobins,  crying, 
"  The  forfeiture — the  forfeiture  !  " 

Laclos  ascended  the  tribune. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  "'tis  the  people — the  people  who 
desire  the  forfeiture.  A  petition  is  necessary,  of  which  I 
approve." 

All  this  immense  crowd,  who  probably  had  the  word, 
cried  with  one  voice,  "  The  petition — the  petition  ! " 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  229 

Then,  with  uproarious  enthusiasm,  the  petition  was  voted. 
It  was  agreed  that  the  next  day,  at  eleven  o'clock,  the 
Jacobins  should  meet  and  hear  the  reading  of  it,  after 
which  it  would  be  brought  to  the  Champs  de  Mars,  where 
ii  was  to  be  signed  by  the  populace,  and  thence  forwarded 
to  the  adopted  sociel  ies. 

During  this  tumult,  M.  Duplay  had  taken  hold  of  my 
arm,  and  drew  me  sharply  on  one  side.  He  then  pointed 
me  out  a  woman  standing  outside  one  of  the  tribunes,  who 
appeared  to  be  taking  the  greatest  possible  interest  in  what 
w  as  passing. 

Look  at  that  woman,"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  the  Citizen  Roland 
Platriere — a  good  patriot." 


CHAPTER  XLL 

CONCERNING    THE    BILL    OF    FORFEITURE. 

Madame  Roland  was  very  far  from  having  assumed  at 
that  period  the  important  position  that  she  afterwards  held. 
As  yet  she  had  never  fretted  and  fumed  her  hour  upon  the 
political  stage.  In  fact,  she  was  not  yet  a  minister.  I  did 
not  pay  more  attention  to  her  than  one  commonly  pays  to  a 
woman.  She  appeared  to  be  about  thirty  years  of  age,  of 
fresh  complexion — heat  of  the  blood,  if  one  may  say  so. 
Her  mouth  was  large,  but  filled  with  irreproachable  teeth  ; 
her  hands  were  large  and  muscular,  but  well-shaped ;  her 
nose  was  retrousse  ;  her  figure  was  good — small  waist  and 
well-filled  hips,  but,  on  the  whole,  having  a  decidedly  volup- 
tuous tendency.  Thus  was  Madame  Roland,  in  the  evening 
of  the  loth  of  July,  1791. 

Just  as  I  was  observing  her,  I  heard  some  one  call 
M.  Duplay. 

Duplay  turned  round.  It  was  M.  Laclos  who  called  him. 
He  held  a  pen  in  his  hand,  and  had  a  sheet  of  paper  on  his 
table.     M.  Brissot  was  sitting  beside  .him. 

'•  My  dear  Duplay,"  said  he,  "  I  was  about  to  write  the 
petition  for  wdiich  all  are  going  to  vote,  but  my  writing  is 
too  much  like  that  of  the  secretary  of  the  Due  d'Orleans. 


230  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

There  is  nothing  wrong  in  the  matter,  I  assure  you.  Here 
is  M.  Brissot,  a  member  of  the  National  Assembly,  and  he 
would  not  be  likely  to  work  against  his  colleagues.  We 
must  have  some  one  whose  handwriting  is  unknown.  Your 
young  man  can  write,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Rather,  I  should  say,"  replied  M.  Duplay  ;  "he  is  a 
scholar." 

"  Well,"  said  Laclos,  mildly,  "  be  kind  enough  to  call 
him  hither,  and  tell  him  what  we  require.  You  will  dictate, 
Brissot,  will  you  not?" 

Feeling  sure  that  the  conversation  concerned  me,  I  ap- 
proached. 

They  told  me  what  was  required.  It  would  give  me  an 
active  participation  in  what  was  going  on,  so  I  was  quite 
willing. 

M.  Brissot  dictated. 

As  it  was  not  permitted  to  make  a  copy  of  the  peti- 
tion, I  can  only  give  it  from  memory.  It  was  well  and 
strongly  worded ;  it  had,  metamorphically  speaking,  two 
heads  ;  the  one  reproached  the  Assembly  with  timidity, 
and  the  other  accused  them  of  having  not  dared  to 
usurp  the  King's  so-called  prerogative,  and  asserted,  at  the 
same  time,  that  the  King's  supposed  deprivation  of  his 
regal  rights  by  the  Assembly  was,  in  reality,  a  sham. 

As  I  was  writing  these  words,  Brissot  still  dictating, 
Laclos  arousing  himself,  placed  his  hand  on  Brissot's 
arm,  and  said,  "  Citizen  Brissot,  I  doubt  whether  the 
friends  of  the  Constitution,  who  compose  the  greater 
number  of  our  club,  will  sign,  unless  you  make  a  slight 
alteration  in  the  words,  but  which  will  not  alter  the 
meaning." 

"  What  alteration  ?"  demanded  Brissot. 

"  Were  I  in  your  place,  I  would  insert,  after  '  Ms 
original  dignity]  these  words,  '  by  constitutional  means.''  " 

Brissot  reflected  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders  he  said,  "  I  see  no  objection." 

Then  he  continued  dictating  to  me. 

"  By  constitutional  means." 

I  turned  round  to  see  whether  Robespierre  and  Danton 
would  not  make  some  objection  to  our  employment ;  but 
both  had  gone,  and,  in  fact,  the  hall  was  all  but  empty,  so 
that  the  petition  was  dictated  to  space. 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  231 

The  two  editors  remarked  that  the  members  had  retired 
because  they  felt  their  presence  to  be  useless,  and  knew  that 
the  petition  would  be  read  to  them  on  the  following  morn- 
ing; but  soon  an  emissary  arrived,  who  .-poke  in  an  under- 
tone to  M.  de  Laclos.  During  this  time  I  again  read  the 
petition,  and  then  I  understood  the  ponderous  significance 
of  the  five  words  which  had  been  SO  aptly  added  b}*  the  well- 
known  author  of  "Liasions  Dangereuses." 

The  Constitutional  meanshy  which  they  could  replace  the 
King,  was  by  placing  on  the  throne  the  Dauphin,  governed 
b}'  a  regency  ;  but  the  brothers  of  the  King,  the  Comte 
d'Artois  and  the  Comte  de  Provence,  being  out  of  France, 
the  Regent's  office  belonged,  of  right,  to  the  Due  d'Orleans, 
who  would  thus  take  the  same  place  by  the  throne  of  Louis 
XVI  as  his  ancestor  had  by  the  throne  of  his  predecessor, 
Louis  XV.  I  asked  myself  why  it  was  that  Brissot  never 
thought  of  that,  though  I  did.  But  I  said  to  myself  that 
perhaps  he  would  not  be  angry  at  being  hidden  behind  the 
word  constitutional,  as  he  knew  that  the  petition  was  his 
own  work. 

At  this  moment,  the  fears  of  M.  de  Laclos  appeared  to 
be  realized.  The  emissary  who  had  whispered  in  his  ear, 
had  come  to  tell  him  that  the  constitutioual  Royalists  of 
the  Jacobins,  and  those  of  the  National  Assembly,  were  go- 
ing to  rejoin  the  Feuillants,  and  thus  separate  themselves 
from  the  pure  Jacobin — that  is  to  say,  the  Republican. 

The  two  heads  of  the  emigration  movement  were  Du- 
port  and  Lameth. 

Their  intention  was  to  form  a  new  club,  composed  of 
friends  of  the  Constitution — an  aristocratic  assembly  where 
none  were  admitted  but  by  a  pass-card,  and  where  they  re- 
ceived none  but  electors,  who  then  stayed  with  the  veritable 
Jacobins — none,  with  the  exception  of  six  or  seven  dema- 
gogue deputies  and  the  canaille  who  followed  in  the  steps  of 
the  Due  d'Orleans,  and  who  formed  the  entire  club. 

••  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  asked  Brissot.  "  They  with  to 
have  the  Assembh'  to  themselves." 

"Good  !  "  said  Laclos  :  "hut  what  does  it  matter  as  long 
as  we  have  the  people  on  our  side  ?     Let  us  proceed." 

Brissot  continued  his  dictation,  in  which,  however,  Laclos 
no  longer  took  part. 

On  the  morrow,  Saturday,  M.  Duplay  and  myself  did  not 


232  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

fail  to  be  at  the  Jacobin  club,  where  were  assembled  scarce- 
ly thirty  persons. 

They  waited  an  hour ;  and  at  twelve  there  were  assem- 
bled, perhaps,  fortjr.  The  petition  was  read  and  applauded. 
All  paid  attention  to  the  phrase  introduced  by  M.  Laclos, 
and  it  was  decided  that  the  petition  should  be  taken  in  its 
present  form  to  the  Champ  de  Mars,  there  to  be  signed  on 
the  altar  of  the  country. 

A  deputation  was  organized  to  carry  the  petition.  M. 
Duplay  had  work  to  do  at  the  Palais  Royal.  He  advised 
me  to  follow  the  delegates,  and  then  return  to  report  to  him 
what  had  passed. 

We  arrived  at  the  Champ  de  Mars.  As  the  report  had 
spread  about  that  the  petition  would  be  taken  there,  thou- 
sands of  people  had  asssembled. 

The  altar  of  the  country  was  surmounted  with  an  im- 
mense picture,  representing  the  apotheosis  of  Voltaire. 

The  delegates  mounted  almost  to  the  top  of  the  altar,  and 
commenced  the  reading  ;  but  they  saw  a  group  approaching, 
whom  they  recognised  as  members  of  the  Cordeliers.  They 
were  received  with  acclamation,  and,  on  their  behalf,  the 
reading  was  again  commenced. 

All  went  well  till  the  phrase  introduced  by  M.  Laclos, 
11  By  all  constitutional  means." 

"  Pardon,"  said  a  voice  ;  "  would  you  mind  reading  that 
passage  again  ?" 

The  reader  continued,  "  By  all  constitutional  means." 

u  Stop  !  "  cried  the  same  voice. 

A  man  then  approached. 

"  Citizen,"  said  he,  "  my  name  is  Bonneville.  I  am 
editor  of  The  Mouth  of  Iron.     The  people  are  deceived." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !"  cried  the  Cordeliers. 

"  How  deceive  the  people  ?  "  said  the  delegate  charged 
with  the  reading  of  the  petition. 

"  I  say,  for  the  second  time,  that  the  people  are  de- 
ceived !  "  cried  Bonneville.  "  By  all  constitutional  means," 
signifies  "  by  a  regency."  And  what  is  a  regency  ?  The 
royalty  of  D'Orleans  in  the  place  of  the  royalty  of  Louis 
XVI." 

"  In  the  place  of  the  ro}Talty  of  Capet ! "  cried  a  voice 
that  I  recognised  as  having  heard  before. 

"  How  Capet  ?  "  said  a  Jacobin. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  233 

"Without  doubt,"  replied  the  same  mocking  voice. 
"Since  the  nobles  no  longer  have  titles — since  M.  Mirabeau 
called  himself  only  Riquetti — since  M.  de  Lafayette  called 
himself  only  M.  .Moltier — the  King  Louis  XVI  can  call 
himself  only  Capet." 

"  Take  care,"  said  a  Jacobin  ;  "  France  is  not  yet  ripe 
for  a  republic." 

"  If  she  is  not  ripe  for  a  republic,"  cried  Camille  Des- 
moulins — for  that  was  the  man  to  whom  the  voice  I  recog- 
nised belonged — "  how  is  it  that  she  is  rotten  for  mon- 
archy ?  " 

"  To  the  vote — to  the  vote  !  "  all  cried. 

They  voted,  and,  with  almost  perfect  unanimity,  declared 
that  the  obnoxious  phrase  should  be  cut  out.  Then,  in  the 
enthusiasm  which  followed  this  vote,  they  all  swore  nei- 
ther to  recognise  Louis  XVI  nor  an}7,  other  King. 

On  the  morrow,  Sunday,  it  was  arranged  that  the  people, 
forewarned  by  notice  posted  on  the  walls,  should  go  to  sign 
the  petition  on  the  altar. 

"  Still,  citizen,  we  lack  one  thing." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Camille  Desmoulins. 

"  It  is  to  have  the  law  on  our  side." 

''We  have  it;  since  the  Assembly  have  suspended  the 
King,  we  have  deposed  him." 

"  We  must  get  from  the  Hotel  de  Ville  an  authorization 
to  hold  the  meeting  to-morrow."  , 

All  started  for  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  They  had  but  to  keep 
on  the  quays;  but  the  distance  was  rather  a  lengthy  one; 
but  as  the  refusal  of  the  Mayor  might  spoil  all,  and  as  I 
wished  to  give  a  report  to  M.  Duplay,  I  went  with  the 
others  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

M.  Bailly  was  not  there ;  he  was  at  the  Place  Vendome, 
watching  the  proceedings  of  the  Assembly ;  but  they  found 
his  substitute,  told  him  of  the  matter,  found  him  not  unwil- 
ling, and  demanded  a  written  authorization.  He  said  he 
did  not  see  the  necessity — a  verbal  permission  being  quite 
sufficient ;  that  the  people  were  always  legal,  exercising 
only  their  right  of  petition. 

I  returned  to  M.  Duplay's,  telling  him  that  the  petition 
would  be  signed  to-morrow,  and  that  the  signature  would 
be  approved  of  by  Bail]}',  or,  at  least,  by  his  substitute. 

We  were  ignorant  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  Assem- 
bly. 


234  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

er 

The  Assembly  had  learnt  the  decision  taken  by  the  Cor- 
deliers and  the  Jacobins.  It  would  not  do  to  allow  the  peo- 
ple to  take  this  supremacy  upon  itself.  They  appealed  to 
Bailty  and  the  municipal  council. 

At  ten  o'clock,  Bailly  and  his  council  decided  that  on  the 
morrow,  Sunday,  17th  July,  the  decree  of  the  Assembly, 
bearing  "  that  the  suppression  of  executive  power  should 
last  until  the  Constitutional  Act  had  been  presented  to,  and 
accepted  by,  the  King,"  should  be  fixed  at  eight  o'clock 
punctually,  and  that  proclamation  of  the  decree  should  be 
with  sound  of  trumpet  proclaimed  by  the  huissiers  of  the 
city. 

Therefore,  whoever  did  not  recognise  an  act  proceeding 
from  the  National  Assembly — that  is  to  say,  the  people's 
representatives — should  be  rebels  to  the  law,  and  should  be 
treated  as  such. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

WHAT    TOOK    PLACE     BETWEEN   THE     HAIRDRESSER    AND 
THE    INVALID. 

We  had  for  neighbor,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  two  doors 
lower  down  than  our  own,  a  hair-dresser,  named  Leger. 
This  hair-dresser,  like  all  his  covfreres,  was  a  staunch  Roy- 
alist. No  doubt  the  reader  would  ask  the  reason  why  hair- 
dressers were  all  Royalists. 

That  is  easily  explained. 

The  hair-dressers'  was  one  of  the  corporations  that  had 
suffered  the  most  in  the  Revolution.  Those  under  Louis 
XV,  and  even  under  Louis  XVI — who  had  invented  such 
fantastic  head-dresses,  worn  by  the  ladies  of  the  nobility  for 
more  than  half  a  century — were  a  body  of  men  not  to  be 
despised. 

Hair-dressers  of  this  period  had  a  select  circle  of  their  own, 
and  many  privileges,  which  they  would  not  surrender,  even 
on  the  night  of  the  4th  of  August. 

Not  only  could  they  mix  in  the  society  of  the  larger  cir- 
cles, but  had  the  entires  to  the  more  select  boudoirs  of  the 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  235 

noblesse,  and  also  carried  the  sword,  as  was  customary  with 
gentlemen. 

It  is  true  that  this  sword,  at  most  times,  was  of  no  more 
use  than  a  harlequin's  wand,  being  but  a  mere  toy.  Of 
some,  the  blades  were  simply  wood,  others  having  no  blade 
at  all,  the  handle  being  attached  to  the  scabbard. 

But  for  some  time  past  things  went  from  bad  to  worse 
with  this  celebrated  corporation  of  hair-dressers.  Their  so- 
ciety was  gradually  sinking  into  oblivion,  to  them  worse 
than  death,  and  Talma  had  just  struck  the  last  blow  even  to 
the  head-dressing  of  men,  by  his  creation  of  the  character 
of  Litus,  which  had  caused  his  name  to  be  given  to  the 
fashion  of  wearing  the  hair  cut  short. 

The  most  desperate  enemies  of  the  new  government — 
that  is  to  sa}',  the  revolutionary  government — was,  therefore, 
the  hair-dressers. 

That  was  not  all.  By  frequenting  the  mansions  of  the 
aristocracy — by  holding  so  often  between  their  hands,  for 
more  than  an  hour  at  a  time,  the  heads  of  the  handsomest 
ladies  of  the  Court — by  chatting  with  the  several  coxcombs 
whose  hair  they  were  in  the  habit  of  dressing — by  serving 
their  noble  clients  in  the  character  of  messengers  of  love — 
by  becoming  the  confidantes  of  the  passions  of  their  em- 
ployers— the  hair-dressers  had  become  libertines,  for  the  ad- 
vantage of  their  pockets. 

Now,  on  Saturday  evening,  as  I  have  already  stated,  at 
the  very  moment  when  the  municipality  issued  the  decree 
against  the  petitioners,  our  neighbor  Leger  came  and  asked 
M.  Duplay  to  lend  him  a  centre-bit. 

Notwithstanding  the  difference  of  opinion  which  separ- 
ated these  two  neighbors,  the  centre  bit  was  at  once  lent, 
without  a  single  question. 

An  Invalid  awaited  him  at  the  door,  to  whom  he  handed 
it,  at  the  same  time  exchanging  with  him  some  few  words, 
and  each  one  went  his  own  way. 

The  following  was  their  projected  scheme  for  the  next 
day  : — 

At  this  period,  when  the  women  commenced  to  take  such 
an  active  part  in  the  revolution,  many  beautiful  patriots 
intended  accompanying  their  brothers,  husbands,  and  lovers 
to  sign  the  petition  on  the  altar  of  the  country.  Thanks  to 
the  centre-bit  lent  by  Maitre  Duplay,  our  libertine  hair- 


236  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

dresser  would  be  enabled  to  bore  a  bole  in  tbe  platform  of 
the  altar,  under  tbe  shejter  of  vvbicb,  if  be  could  not  see 
the  lovely  features  of  tbe  charming  patriotic  women,  be 
could,  at  least,  perceive  the  interesting  proceedings  of  the 
people. 

Not  wishing  to  enjoy  this  pleasure  alone,  the  Citizen 
Leger  invited  an  old  Invalid  to  share  it  with  him.  The 
Invalid  accepted  the  invitation  ;  but  like  a  cautious  man, 
knowing  that  they  could  not  feed  themselves  with  their 
e)'es,  proposed  that,  in  addition  to  the  centre-bit,  they 
should  take  with  them  eatables  and  a  barrel  of  water.  This 
last  step  was  agreed  to  by  Leger.  Accordingly,  on  the 
morning  of  Sunday,  the  19th,  half  an  hour  before  the  light 
set  in,  our  two  gallants  might  be  seen  scaling  the  altar  of 
the  country,  with  their  centre-bit  and  their  provisions. 
Upon  gaining  the,  platform,  they  gently  lifted  one  of  the 
planks,  introduced  themselves  beneath,  replaced  the  plank, 
and  then  commenced  their  work. 

Unfortunate^  for  our  two  curious  friends,  the  fete 
attracted  none  but  themselves.  From  day-break,  tbe 
Champ  de  Mars  commenced  to  get  animated.  The  "  mer- 
chands"  of  cakes  and  lemonade,  hoping  that  the  patriot- 
ism would  hunger  and  thirst  those  who  signed  the  docu- 
ment, commenced  arriving  from  all  quarters.  Tired  of 
walking  about,  one  of  these  women  ascended  the  altar,  for 
tbe  purpose  of  looking  at  the  picture  of  the  triumph  of 
Voltaire.  While  reading  the  oath  of  Brutus,  of  which  she 
understood  nothing,  she  felt  an  instrument  piercing  the 
sole  of  her  shoe.  She  immediately  cried  out  for  help,  and 
declared  there  were  malefactors  underneath  tbe  altar ;  upon 
which  a  young  man  went  in  search  of  the  guard  of  Gros 
Caillon.  The  guard,  fancying  the  affair  was  not  worth 
while  troubling  himself  about,  refused  to  stir. 

In  tbe  absence  of  the  soldiers,  he  called  the  passing 
workmen.  These,  more  sensible  to  the  cries  of  distress 
than  the  guard,  came  with  their  tools.  They  set  to  work, 
without  delay,  to  open  the  altar,  and  there  they  found 
Leger  and  bis  companion,  in  a  pretended  sleep.  They 
were  not  long,  however,  bringing  them  to  consciousness, 
when  they  were  commanded  to  explain  tbe  cause  of  their 
presence  there,  and  to  state  if  their  intentions  were  justifi- 
able, and  they  were  forced  to  own  the  truth. 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  237 

At  that  moment,  a  curious  individual  dropped  himself 
under  the  altar,  to  see  what  it  was  like,  and  there  found 
tlie  barrel  of  water,  Mistaking  this  for  powder,  he  rushed 
forth,  crying,  with  all  his  might,  thai  the  two  prisoners  had 
intended  blowing  up  the  altar,  as  well  as  those  who  would 
find  themselves  t  henon.  The  hair-dresser  and  Invalid  cried 
loudly  that  it  was  water,  and  not  powder,  and  that,  by 
breaking  the  barrel,  they  would  arrive  at  the  truth;  hut 
the  truth  was  too  shnple.  They  thought  it  more  natural 
to  strangle  the  two  unfortunate  men,  or  decapitate  them, 
and  promenade  their  heads  on  the  top  of  a  pike. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  the  bailiffs  of  the  muni- 
cipality arrived,  and  proclaimed  the  arrest  of  the  Mayor. 
They  then  proceeded  towards  the  Roule,  hut  were  overtaken 
at  the  top  of  Rue  St.  Honore  by  the  crowd  carrying  the 
heads  of  the  two  supposed  assassins  on  the  top  of  their 
pikes.  I  fancied  that  I  could  recognise  one  of  these  as  that 
of  a  neighbor;  it  turned  out  to  be  that  of  the  poor  hair- 
dresser, who  came  the  preceding  night  to  borrow  the 
centre-bit  from  M.  Duplay.  I  could  scarcely  believe  my 
eyes.  What  crime  could  they  possibly  be  guilty  of?  I 
called  M.  Duplay.  There  must  have  been  a  strange  accent 
in  my  voice ;  for,  with  the  exception  of  my  grandmother, 
who  was  always  occupied  reading  and  re-reading  her  volume 
of  the  "Arabian  Nights,"  the  whole  family  rushed  towards 
me  ;  the  women  shrieked  with  terror,  but  one  was  begin- 
ning to  get  accustomed  to  these  sorts  of  spectacles,  and,  by 
degrees,  they  risked  looking. 

Every  one  recognised  Leger. 

What  had  he  done  ? 

We  inquired.  They  were  two  great  criminals,  who  had 
intended  blowing  up  the  altar  of  the  country,  and  those 
who  might  be  on  it. 

Others  said  they  were  two  National  Guards,  who  were 
beheaded  by  the  people  for  attempting  to  enforce  the  exe- 
cution of  the  law. 

The  noise  spread  in  the  Assembly.  Duport,  who,  with 
Charles  Lameth,  separated  himself  from  the  Republican 
Jacobins,  was  then  President.  He  was  not  backward  in 
accusing  his  late  colleagues  of  the  crime. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  to  the  Assembly,  "  Two  good 
citizens  have  just  perished  on  the  Champ  de  Mars  for  hav- 


238  LOVE      AMD     LIBERTY. 

ing  said  to  a  deluded  mass  that  they  must  not  break  the 
laws  of  their  country — they  were  hanged  on  the  spot." 

"'Tis  true  !  "  cried  Regnault  de  St.  Jean  d'Angely.  "  I 
confirm  that  news ;  they  were  two  National  Guards.  Gen- 
tlemen, I  demand  martial  law.  It  is  the  duty  of  this  As- 
sembly, gentlemen,  to  pronounce  all  persons  attempting  to 
exort  the  people  to  resist,  either  by  personal  acts,  or  by  col- 
lective or  individual  writings,  guilty  of  treachery  to  the 
nation." 

This  was  just  what  the  Assembly  desired,  composed,  as 
it  was,  principally  of  Royalists  and  Constitutionalists,  and 
in  which  the  Republicans — that  is  to  say,  those  who  upheld 
the  petition,  and,  consequently,  wished  for  the  dethrone- 
ment of  the  King — were  to  be  found  in  a  very  small  num- 
ber. 

It  was  therefore  decreed  that  the  President  of  the  As- 
sembly, and  the  Ma}Tor  of  Paris,  should  inquire  into  the 
real  state  of  affairs,  in  order  to  take  rigorous  measures  if 
events  passed  as  were  reported. 

They  did  not  give  themselves  the  trouble  to  inquire  into 
the  truth,  but  took  the  measures.  Robespierre  then  left  the 
Assembly  without  saying  a  word,  rushed  to  the  Club  of  the 
Jacobins,  to  announce  to  them  the  news. 

At  the  club  he  found  nearly  thirty  persons;  they  all 
tumultuously  voted  the  withdrawal  of  the  petition,  and  Lan- 
terre  was  despatched  to  the  Champ  de  Mars  to  take  posses- 
sion of  it. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  M.  Duplay  returned 
from  the  Jacobins,  and  asked  where  were  his  wife  and 
daughters. 

He  was  told  they  were  gone  with  Felicien  to  the  Champ 
de  Mars  to  see  the  petition  signed. 

"  Not  an  instant  is  to  be  lost !  "  cried  M.  Duplay.  "  If 
the  petition  is  not  withdrawn  in  time,  there  will  most  cer- 
tainly be  a  row,  perhaps  firearms  used  !  Quick  ! — let  us  on 
to  the  Champ  de  Mars  !  " 

We  left  the  house  to  the  care  of  Catherine  and  the  old 
grandmother  and  set  off  in  haste  for  the  Porte  St.  Honore. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  239 

CHAPTEK  XLIII. 

THE    RED    FLAG. 

Upon  our  arrival,  the  Champ  de  Mars  presented  au 
aspect  of  the  most  profound  tranquillity. 

A  strong  detachment  of  troops,  with  two  or  three  pieces 
of  cannon,  which  bad  heen  stationed  there  in  consequence 
of  the  assassination  which  had  taken  place  in  the  morning, 
seeing  that  nothing  extraordinary  took  place,  gradually  with- 
drew, leaving  the  place  to  three  or  four  hundred  inoffensive 
strollers,  and  a  small  group  of  men,  to  whom  no  one  paid 
the  slightest  attention,  but  which,  like  many  small  clouds, 
contained  a  terrific  tempest. 

This  group  seemed  to  have  as  leaders  two  strange-looking 
individuals.  One  of  these  creatures,  whose  name  was  Ver- 
rieres,  was  a  fantastic-looking  hunchback.  He  had  not 
heen  seen  since  the  oth  and  6th  of  October,  when  he 
had  made  himself  conspicuous  at  Versailles.  He  reap- 
peared, however,  on  the  night  before  our  present  date. 

The  other  was  from  the  department  of  Auvergne,  and 
called  Fournier,  the  American,  because  he  had  been  over- 
seer of  a  negro  plantation  in  St.  Domingo. 

He  held  in  his  hand  a  firelock. 

The  miserable  creatures  who  were  listening  to  the  ha- 
rangue of  these  two  men  were  a  sort  of  human  larva,  aris- 
ing none  knew  from  where. 

On  entering  the  Champ  de  Mars  we  threw  a  glance 
around,  to  see  if  we  could  recognise,  in  the  midst  of  these 
three  or  four  hundred  strollers,  the  four  persons  we  came 
in  search  of.  At  that  moment,  it  was  all  the  easier  to  do 
so,  as  every  one  was  following  Lanterre  to  the  altar  of  the 
country.  We  followed  as  the  rest.  Lanterre  announced 
to  the  patriots,  with  a  voice  which  suited  admirably  these 
sort  of  proceedings,  that  the  petition  placed  there  the  pre- 
ceding night  could  not  be  signed,  as,  at  the  moment  this 
petition  was  written,  it  was  supposed  that  the  Assembly 
had  not  yet  decided  the  fate  of  the  King,  but  that,  since 
then,  they  had  recognised  his  innocence  and  inviolability 
in  the  sitting  of  the  night  before.  The  Jacobins,  he  con- 
tinued, intended  occupying  themselves  with  the  forming  a 


2-10  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

new  petition,  which  they  would,  ere  long,  present  for  signa- 
ture. 

This  declaration  was  received  with  murmurs. 

"  Why  should  we  await  the  presentation  of  a  petition 
already  formed  ?  Don't  we  know,  as  well  as  Messieurs 
Brissot,  Laclos,  and  Robespierre,  what  we  want  ?  "  said  an 
enormous  man,  of  about  forty  years  of  age,  a  3'oung  and 
beautiful  woman  leaning  on  his  arm.  "  We  can  also 
write,"  added  he,  with  a  smile ;  "  and  I  might  even  say 
that  we  commence  to  think." 

"  No  one  hinders  you,  Citizen  Robert,"  said  Lanterre, 
who  was,  probabty,  not  annoyed  at  the  interruption.  "  You, 
and,  above  all,  the  Citizen  Keralio,  whose  dear  little  arm 
you  have  the  extreme  felicity  of  squeezing  within  your 
own,  are  more  capable  of  success  than  any  one  else.  In 
the  meantime,  I  take  possession  of  the  one  made  by  the 
Society." 

So  saying,  Lanterre  placed  in  his  pocket  the  petition 
written  by  me,  dictated  by  Brissot,  amended  by  Laclos,  and 
definitely  corrected  by  Benneville  and  Camille  Desmoulins. 

'•  With  all  this,  I  neither  see  my  wife  nor  my  daugh- 
ters," exclaimed  M.  Duplay. 

"I  have  an  idea,"  replied  I,  "that,  having  required 
some  refreshments,  she  went  to  some  cafe  with  Felicien." 

"  We  require  pen,  ink,  and  paper,"  said  the  citizen 
whom  Lanterre  had  called  Robert,  "  which  we  will  find  at 
the  first  stationer's." 

"  Would  you  wish  me  to  go  and  fetch  it  for  you?"  said 
a  red-headed  individual,  with  a  strong  German  accent. 

"  But,"  said  a  strange  voice,  "  do  you  think  you  can 
spare  time  to  go  such  a  distance  ?  How  would  it  be,  in  the 
meantime,  if  the  Queen  required  your  services  ?  " 

"  The  Queen  ! — the  Queen  ! "  demanded  the  people  from 
all  sides,  and  at  the  same  time  fixing  their  eyes  on  the  man 
with  the  red  hair. 

"  Yes.  Why,  the  Citizen  Weder  is  the  valet-de-chambre 
of  the  Queen,  and  has  come  here,  probably,  to  see  what 
was  going  on,  so  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  carry  it  to  her 
Majesty.  If  I  make  a  mistake,  and  you  are  not  the  Citizen 
Weder,  say  what  your  name  is." 

"  My  name  is  Chaumette,  a  medical  student,  of  No.  9, 
Rue    Mazarine.     Let    every    one  do  as  I  have    done,  and 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  241 

make  known  his  name,  then  we  shall  be   acquainted  with 
who  are  our  friends,  and  who  are  our  enemies." 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  every  one  say  who  he  is,"  said  a  man  of 
about  eight-and-twenty,  whose  black  beard  seemed  to  have 
added  to  the  sternness  of  his  features.  "  My  name  is 
Brune,  a  typographical  worker;  and,  if  futurity  could  be 
'seen  into,"  he  might  have  added,  "a  future  Marshal  of 
France." 

"And  if  you  want  a  printer  for  your  petition,  here  am  I, 
Momoro,  the  printer  of  liberty  !  " 

"And  I,  Hebert,  journalist,  Rue  Mirabeau." 

Then  succeeded  such  tumultuous  uproar  of  men  shriek- 
ing their  names  with  all  their  force,  that  one  could  scarcely 
distinguish  those  of  Renouard,  Lagarde,  Moreau,  Henriot, 
Laschereau,  and  David. 

When  this  tempestuous  noise  ceased,  the  man  named 
Weder  had  disappeared. 

"  M.  Robert,"  said  I  to  him  who  had  offered  to  frame  the 
text  of  the  petition,  "  I  have  some  business  in  yonder  cafe, 
where  I  fancy  I  can  distinguish  some  of  my  friends,  whence 
I  wdl  proceed  to  the  nearest  stationer's,  and  bring  j'ou 
back  everything  that  is  necessary  for  writing  purposes." 
Then  I  added  to  M.  Duplay,  "Follow  me  with  your  eyes, 
sir ;  and  if,  as  I  believe,  those  are  the  ladies  we  are  in 
search  of,  I  will  make  you  a  sign  with  my  pocket- 
handkerchief." 

As  I  had  fancied,  it  was  Madame  Duplay  and  her 
daughters.  I  told  them  where  I  had  left  M.  Duplay,  and 
asked  them  to  go  and  meet  him  at  the  altar  of  the  country. 
I  then  proceeded  to  the  stationer's,  and  bought  two  or  three 
sheets  of  paper,  knowing  very  well  that  if  even  there  was 
onl}'  one  sheet  required  for  the  petition  itself,  there  would 
be  one  hundred  or  one  hundred  and  fifty  signatures.  I 
also  bought  a  bottle  of  ink  and  a  packet  of  pens  already 
cut. 

When  returning,  I  met  with  M.  Duplay  and  his  family. 
This  gentleman,  fearing  some  serious  disorder,  was  taking 
his  family  home  b}'  the  nearest  road — that  is  to  say,  b}'  the 
Invalides.  Before  separating  with  him,  though,  I  promised 
that  if  anything  grave  took  place,  I  would  return  with  a 
full  account  to  the  house. 
15 


242  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

I  now  hastened  to  the  altar,  where  I  was  impatiently 
awaited. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  names  of  Robert  and  Mad- 
emoiselle Keralio.  Notwithstanding  how  well  posted  we 
are  at  the  present  moment  in  the  history  of  the  Revolution, 
very  few  persons  are  acquainted  with  the  very  prominent 
part  taken  by  these  two  persons  in  the  proceedings  of  that 
terrible  da}r,  the  17th  of  July,  which  killed  with  the  one 
blow  the  absolute  royalty,  which  it  ought  to  have  raised 
from  its  low  position,  and  the  constitutional  royalty,  which 
it  ought  to  have  upheld,  and  which,  directed  against  the 
Jacobins,  whom  it  ought  to  have  extinguished,  gave  them, 
on  the  contrary,  an  additional  strength. 

Robert,  as  I  have  said,  was  an  enormous  man,  of  forty  or 
forty-five  years  of  age.  Being  a  member  of  the  Club  of 
the  Cordeliers,  he  vainly  searched  with  his  eyes  some  of  his 
colleagues  of  reputation.  Either  by  accident,  or  otherwise, 
he  did  not  succeed  in  finding  a  single  one  of  these.  On 
the  Saturday  evening,  Danton  was  obliged  to  join  a  meet- 
ing in  the  wood  of  Vincennes,  and  thence  he  went  on  to 
Fontenoy,  where  his  father-in-law  was  a  street  vender  of 
lemonade.  Legendre  had  left  about  the  same  time,  with 
Camille  Desmoulins,  and  Feron.  A  meeting  had  been 
arranged  at  Fontenoy,  by  Danton,  and  all  four  dined  there 
together. 

A  great  responsibility  was,  therefore,  about  to  be  placed 
on  the  shoulders  of  Robert ;  he  would  be  obliged  to  repre- 
sent alone,  or  nearly  so,  the  entire  Club  of  the  Cordeliers. 
We  must,  however,  agree  that  he  accepted  his  position 
bravely.  The  Club  of  the  Jacobins  was  totally  out  of  the 
question,  since  Lanterre,  in  the  name  of  the  Society,  had 
come  and  withdrawn  the  petition. 

As  to  the  wife  of  Robert,  Mademoiselle  Keralio  was  a 
young  lady — very  gay,  lively,  talented.  She  was  a  Breton, 
and  daughter  of  a  Chevalier  de  St.  Louis,  called  Guniemeut 
de  Keralio.  As  inspector  of  the  military  colleges  of 
France,  he  had,  on  paying  a  visit  to  the  college  at  Brienne, 
given  a  favorable  account  of  a  young  Corsican,  named 
Bonaparte — he  who  afterwards  became  the  Great  Napoleon. 

His  calling  not  being  sufficient  for  the  support  of  his 
family,  he  made  translations,  and  wrote  for  several  journals, 
among  others  for  the  Mercure,  and  Journal  des  Savants. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  243 

His  daughter  assisted  him  to  the  hest  of  her  powers.  At 
eighteen  years  of  age,  she  wrote  a  novel,  called  "Ade- 
laide;" then  the  "History  of  Elizabeth,"  a  long  and 
serious  work ;  afterwards  she  married  Robert,  a  great 
friend  of  Camille  Desmoulins,  and  an  enemy  of  Lafayette, 
who  had  written  a  book,  entitled,  "Republicanism  adapted 
to  France."  Not  less  patriotic  than  her  husband,  Madame 
Robert  had  come  with  him  to  add  her  signature  to  the 
petition,  declaring  that  France  neither  recognised  Louis  A'\  I 
nor  any  other  King  ;  and  seeing  that  it  had  been  with- 
drawn, she  was  the  first  to  advise  her  husband  to  draw  up 
another. 

I  had  no  sooner  arrived  on  the  spot  with  my  pens,  ink, 
and  paper,  than  she  snatched  them  from  my  hands  with 
such  gracious  vivacity,  that  I  could  really  say  nothing,  but 
thank  her.  She  then  handed  a  pen  to  her  husband,  who 
was  not  very  clever  at  composition. 

"  Write,  write,"  said  she,  "  what  I  dictate." 

Then,  amidst  thunders  of  applause,  and  while  consulting 
some  with  her  eyes,  and  others  with  words  and  signs,  she 
set  to  work  to  dictate,  clearly,  and  with  much  eloquence,  a 
petition  for  the  dethronement  of  the  King,  which  was  at 
the  same  time  a  violent  charge  against  royalty. 

The  affair  was  done,  and  well  done,  in  less  than  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour. 

Robert,  who  had  wrritten  the  petition,  signed  it  first  and 
passed  the  pen  to  his  neighbor. 

Every  one  wished  for  the  pen.  I  had  a  packet,  which  I 
distributed  ;  and  as  it  would  take  too  long  for  them  to  sign 
one  after  the  other,  so  dense  had  the  mass  become,  the  idea 
struck  me  to  distribute  the  three  extra  sheets  of  paper, 
each  of  which  could  contain  two  hundred  signatures. 

No  doubt,  the  assembly  had  heard  from  Weder  what  was 
going  on  on  the  Champ  de  Mars.  The  situation  was 
grave  ;  for  if  the  people  broke  the  decrees  of  the  Assembly, 
it  would  cease  being  the  first  power  of  the  State. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  The  meeting  would 
have  to  be  dissolved,  and  the  petition  destroyed  at  all 
risks  ;  the  more  so,  as  every  instant  the  mob  was  becoming 
more  and  more  numerous ;  not  from  the  side  of  Paris, 
where  it  was  made  known  to  all,  that,  by  proceeding  to  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  they  would  be  guilty   of  an  act  of  rebel- 


244  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

lion,  but  from  the  village  of  D'Yssy,  Vaugirard,  Sevres, 
St.  Cloud,  and  Boulogne,  where  they  were  foretold  of  the 
reunion,  and  had  not  heard  of  any  counter-petition.  They 
flocked  to  it,  as  to  a  fete. 

The  intentions  were  good,  although  nothing  was  easier 
than  to  accuse  them  of  heing  bad.  The  Assembly — duped 
either  by  mistake,  or  profiting  by  the  occasion — sent  a  mes- 
sage to  the  Mayor,  announcing  that  a  band  of  fifty  thous- 
and robbers  were  congregated  in  the  Champ  de  Mars,  and 
were  about  to  march  upon  the  Salle  du  Manege. 

They  called  to  their  protection  a  military  body,  and  gave 
the  order  to  Bailly  to  disperse  the  brigands  by  force. 
Bailly,  who  was  not  aware  of  the  goings  on,  and  who 
should,  before  all  other  things,  obey  the  orders  of  the  As- 
sembly, forewarned  Lafayette,  and  sounded  the  alarm. 

In  these  times,  the  paid  guard,  strongly  addicted  to  aris- 
tocratic— or,  rather,  Lafayettish — principles,  for  it  was 
nearly  entirely  composed  of  the  conquerors  of  the  Bastille, 
Were  always  the  first  to  answer  such  a  call. 

This  body,  perfectly  armed  and  perfectly  commanded, 
were  exasperated  at  the  injuries  they  received  from  the 
Democratic  journals,  and  particularly  the  Friend  of  the 
People,  of  Marat,  in  which  he  called  them  the  spies  of  La- 
fayette ;  and  one  one  day  demanded  their  noses  to  be  cut 
off,  another  day  their  ears,  and  even  hinted  at  finishing 
with  them  altogether  with  the  assistance  of  the  gudlotine. 

They  applauded  vociferously,  when  suddenly  the  red  flag 
was  seen  to  float  from  the  balcony  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
which  was  a  signal  to  all  the  loyal  citizens  of  the  town  of 
their  help,  and  never  did  they  require  help  more  than  on 
this  occasion. 

In  the  midst  of  these  cries,  the  Mayor,  who  was  pale  as 
the  day  on  which  he  marched  to  the  scaffold,  descended  the 
Place  de  Greve,  and  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  a 
column  of  the  National  Guard.  Lafayette,  at  the  head  of 
another  column,  followed  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine,  while 
Bailly  took  the  right  bank. 

The  red  flag  was  unhooked,  and  followed  the  column, 
headed  by  the  Mayor. 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  245 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE   MASSACRE    OF   THE    CHAMP   DE   MARS. 

We  thought  but  little  of  the  danger  we  were  running  at 
the  Champ  de  Mars,  and  knew  nothing  whatever  of  what 
was  going  on  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  crowd  was  noth- 
ing more  than  an  ordinary  Sunday  crowd.  No  weapons 
whatever  were  to  be  seen,  save  the  sabres  hanging  to  the 
belts  of  some  stray  National  Guards,  who  might  be  taking 
a  walk  with  their  wives  and  children.  Madame  Roland 
sa}rs,  in  her  "Memoirs,"  that  she  remained  there  till  ten 
o'clock. 

The  only  extraordinary  proceeding  that  took  place  was 
that  on  the  altar. 

They  continued  to  sign  the  petition  with  a  vigor  that 
promised  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  signatures  before  night- 
fall. Generally  the  person  signing  cried  out,  "  Vive  la 
nation !  Down  with  royalty  ! "  threw  his  cap  up  in  the 
air,  and  ceded  the  place  to  another. 

Two  contrary  currents  were  established  on  the  north, 
south,  and  east  sides  of  the  altar  of  the  country,  between 
the  persons  ascending  and  the  persons  descending.  The 
height  of  the  altar  was  immense — that  it  is  to  say,  about 
one  hundred  feet.  At  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
it  presented  the  aspect  of  an  enormous  hive,  swarming  with 
bees. 

At  a  few  minutes  past  four  o'clock,  we  heard  the  drums, 
but  paid  little  attention  to  them,  the  affair  of  the  hair- 
dresser and  Invalid  having  for  some  time  escaped  the  mem- 
ory of  every  one.  In  Paris,  one  soon  forgets  the  events 
which  are  of  but  little  interest  to  remember.  There  was 
simply  a  movement  of  curiosity  on  the  altar,  where  two 
thousand  people  were  seated,  and  on  the  ground  of  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  where  some  ten  to  twelve  thousand  were 
walking. 

These  drums  were  those  of  a  battalion  of  the  advanced 
guard  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  This  battalion  was 
totally  misinformed  of  what  was  taking  place  in  the  Champ 
de  Mars.     They  had  received  an  order  from  Bailly  and  La- 


246  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

fayette  to  fire  in  case  of  any  resistance  being  made,  but 
only  in  case  of  resistance. 

Before  entering  the  Champ  de  Mars,  the  command  was 
given  to  halt,  and  load  their  guns.  They  thought  they 
would  have  to  face  some  fifty  thousand  brigands,  determined 
on  bloodshed  and  pillage. 

They  found,  on  the  contrary,  an  inoffensive  population 
amusing  itself. 

The  battalion  halted  a  second  time ;  but,  as  they  did  not 
find  what  they  were  in  search  of,  they  put  their  guns  in 
clusters,  and  sent  a  few  unarmed  grenadiers  to  see  what 
was  passing  on  the  altar  of  the  country.  These  came  back, 
saying  that  they  were  signing  a  petition  in  the  greatest 
possible  order,  and  without  the  slightest  noise. 

The  people  walking  in  the  Champ  de  Mars  did  not,  on 
their  side,  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  the  arrival  of  the 
military  from  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine. 

But  about  the  same  time,  the  drums  of  Gros  Caillon  and 
the  Cours  la  Beine  were  heard  calling  to  arms. 

From  Gros  Caillon  it  was  Lafayette,  and  from  Cours  la 
Beine,  Bailly,  who  arrived  with  the  National  and  paid 
Guards. 

Lafayette  sent,  in  advance,  an  aide-de-camp  and  a  hundred 
armed  men,  to  find  out  what  was  really  passing  in  the 
Champ  de  Mars.  But  from  the  group,  which  I  have 
already  mentioned  as  having  been  commanded  by  Verrieres 
and  Fournier,  a  gun-shot  was  seen  to  proceed,  which 
wouuded  the  aid-de-camp  of  Lafayette. 

The  advance  guard  returned  to  Lafayette,  and  the  aide- 
de-camp,  bleeding,  made  his  report  on  the  manner  in  which 
he  was  received. 

To  him,  wounded  as  he  was  on  his  entry  into  the  Champs, 
all  the  inoffensive  strollers  appeared  to  be  brigands. 

Lafayette  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  three  thou- 
sand men  he  commanded,  and  marched  on  the  Champ  de 
Mars. 

He  found  Fournier,  Verrieres,  and  those  they  led,  busily 
engaged  in  raising  a  barricade.  He  marched  straight  up  to 
the  barricade,  and  destroyed  it.  From  under  a  cart,  Four- 
nier, the  Americau,  fired  through  one  of  the  wheels  on  La- 
fayette. 

The  gun  missed  fire. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  247 

Fournier,  the  American,  was  taken,  and  charged  with, 
revolt  and  homicide. 

The  National  Guard  would  have  shot  him  on  the  spot, 
had  not  Lafayette  torn  him  from  their  hands,  and  rendered 
him  his  liberty. 

The  most  curious  of  all  was,  that  this  bloody  day  was 
caused  by  these  two  bloodthirsty  men,  Lafayette  and 
Bailly* 

The  battalion  from  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  and  Marias 
entered  the  Champ  at  the  same  time  as  Lafayette,  and 
ranged  themselves  behind  the  altar,  in  front  of  the  Military 
College. 

Lafayette,  fearing  that  these  mipht  sympathise  with  the 
people,  sent  a  detachment  of  the  National  Guard  to  join 
them. 

At  this  moment  the  promenaders,  and  those  who  were 
signing  the  petition  on  the  altar,  preoccupied,  but  not 
alarmed,  at  the  sort  of  collision  which  had  taken  place 
between  the  National  Guard  and  the  defenders  of  the  bar- 
ricade, saw,  advancing  by  the  Bridge  of  Bois  (to-day  the 
Bridge  of  Jena)  another  body  of  the  army,  headed  by  the 
Mayor,  and  over  the  heads  of  which  floated  the  red  flag. 

This  red  flag  informed  us  that  martial  law  was  pro- 
claimed. 

Against  whom  ? 

It  could  not  be  against  those  who  were  guilty  of  no 
wrong,  and  who  were  simply  walking  by  right  of  the 
petition  accorded  to  every  citizen. 

In  the  midst  of  the  troop  following  the  Mayor  were  to  be 
distinguished  a  company  of  dragoons.  The  dragoons  were 
well  known  to  be  an  aristocratic  regiment,  being  used  to 
firing  on  the  people.  Also  a  band  of  hair-dressers,  armed  to 
the  teeth,  with  their  hair  dressed  a  Vaile  de  pigeon,  and 
clad  in  the  height  of  fashion.  Their  clothes  were  of  silks 
and  satin,  and  of  every  color  in  the  rainbow. 

They  came,  no  doubt,  to  avenge  the  death  of  that  unfor- 
tunate poor  fellow,  Le*ger. 

The  group  which  had  opposed  the  entrance  of  Lafayette 
had  gone  and  reformed  themselves  a  little  further  off, 
They  were  joined  by  all  the  blackguards  of  the  quarter. 

At  the  moment  when,  after  a  roll  of  drums,  M.  Bailly 
commenced  his  declaration,  a  shower  of  stones  fell  around 


248  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

him.  A  gun  was  fired  behind  him  at  the  same  time,  and 
wounded  a  dragoon. 

jBailly  gave  the  order  to  fire  a  round  of  blank  cartridge 
in  the  air.  The  order  was  executed.  This  inoffensive  dis- 
charge injured  no  one,  but  had  the  effect  of  making  La- 
fayette think  that  it  was  real. 

The  promenaders  nearly  all  rushed  towards  the  altar  of 
the  country,  fancying  that  the}'',  as  simple  spectators,  could 
not  be  fired  upon  without  there  having  first  been  a  sum- 
mon)' to  disperse. 

At  this  moment,  the  Champ  de  Mars  was  invaded  by  cav- 
alry. 

The  promenaders  vainly  search  for  an  issue  to  re-enter 
Paris. 

At  all  sides,  nothing  but  troubles  present  themselves  to 
our  view  ;  at  tiie  Military  College,  at  Gros  Caillon,  at  the 
entrance  to  the  wood. 

Almost  immediately  the  paid  guards  made  an  offensive 
movement  towards  the  altar.  Abandoning  the  hostile 
group,  which  continued  to  shower  stones  on  their  heads, 
they  dashed  themselves  distractedly  and  furiously  against 
the  altar;  and,  without  an  attack,  without  provocation  or  re- 
sistance, fired  on  this  mass  of  brothers — this  living  pyramid, 
this  human  beehive,  of  which (two-thirds  were  composed  of 
defenceless  women  and  children. 

The  hurricane  of  fire  fell  on  this  disarmed  throng,  who 
only  replied  by  heart-rending  cries  of  agony.  The  three 
faces  of  the  altar  were  covered  with  the  dead  and  wounded 
bodies  of  the  unfortunate  victims. 

From  the  height  of  the  pyramid  where  I  found  myself — 
between  Robert  and  his  wife, — I  perceived  that  the  artillery 
were  about  to  make  fire  on  the  people  with  the  cannon,  at 
the  risk  of  firing  on  the  cavaliers  and  paid  guard,  when 
Lafayette  perceiving  the  movement,  dug  the  spurs  into  his 
horse,  and  galloped  to  the  mouth  of  the  cannon,  where  he 
placed  himself. 

The  first  cry  of  Madame  Robert  was — "  'Tis  on  the  pe- 
titioners they  would  fire  !  Let  us  save  the  petition  !  "  Tnen 
addressing  herself  to  me,  she  said,  "Help  me,  monsieur — 
help  me  !  " 

It  was  no*  longer  a  question  of  signing ;  every  one  pre- 
cipitated himself  by  the  only  side  of  the  altar  which  had 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  219 

not  been  fired  upon — that  is  to  sa}',  the  side  facing  the 
Military  College,  and  which  was  protected  by  the  battalions 
of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  and  Marais.  Both  the  peti- 
tion and  the  sheets,  covered  with  signatures,  were  seen  to 
fly  before  the  wind. 

Madame  Robert  took  possession  of  the  petition,  whilst 
her  husband  and  I  collected  about  a  hundred  sheets  of  sig- 
natures. 

We  then  descended  by  the  west  side  of  the  altar. 

Around  us,  seven  or  eight  persons  had  been  killed  or 
wounded. 

A  hundred  and  fifty,  at  least,  fell  before  this  first  dis- 
charge. 

In  descending  this  immense  staircase,  I  lost  Robert  and 
his  wife.  The  National  Guards  of  the  Faubourg  St.  An- 
toine and  Marais  cried,  "  Come  with  us — we  will  defend 
you  !  " 

I  rushed  to  their  sides ;  the  dragoons  set  out  in  pursuit 
of  us  ;  but  the  battalion  of  the  Marais  opened  their  ranks 
to  us,  and  prepared  to  receive  them  with  the  bayonet.  An 
aide-de-camp  came  up,  and  ordered  this  battalion  to  march 
forward,  and  make  a  junction  with  the  other  troops.  The 
aide-de-camp  was  killed.  None  obeyed  this  order  but  the 
paid  guards. 

The  battalion,  or  rather,  the  two  battalions,  of  National 
Guards,  formed  themselves  into  two  columns,  sent  out  scouts, 
so  as  to  protect  any  fugitives  who  might  come  and  ask  for 
shelter  in  their  ranks,  and  marched  from  the  Champ  de 
Mars,  leaving  this  horrible  butchery  to  be  completed  with- 
out their  assistance. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

ROBESPIERRE    PAYS    A   VISIT   TO    M.    DUFLAY. 

I  had  no  sooner  quitted  this  frightful  scene  of  bloodshed, 
than,  thanking  my  saviors,  I  sprang  forward  towards  the 
river,  in  order  to  cross  it  by  boat,  or,  if  there  was  a  neces- 
sity, to  swim  it. 


250  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

The  affair  seemed  to  me  grave.  There  must  have  heen 
some  treachery  on  foot,  of  which,  in  my  mind  the  Jacobins 
ought  to  be  instructed. 

There  happened  to  be,  in  a  boat  anchored  to  the  river's 
bank,  a  man  fishing,  who  did  not  disturb  himself,  notwith- 
standing the  thundering  of  the  cannon. 

Nothing  ever  disturbs  a  man  fishing.  To  untie  the  rope, 
jump  into  the  boat,  and  take  possession  of  the  oars,  was 
but  the  work  of  a  few  moments.  I  had  nearly  half-way 
crossed  the  river  before  he  recovered  from  his  astonishment. 

At  length,  he  demanded  what  I  meant  by  this  violence, 
both  to  himself  and  to  his  boat  ?  I  showed  him  a  paper, 
and  said,  "  An  order  from  General  Lafayette."  That  was 
sufficient. 

I  jumped  out  on  the  right  bank,  leaving  the  boat,  with 
its  owner,  to  regain  the  left. 

Once  on  solid  ground,  I  took  to  my  heels,  and  by  Cours 
la  Heine,  and  the  Porte  St.  Honored  I  set  out  for  M.  Du- 
play's  house  as  fast  as  my  legs  could  carry  me. 

From  Cours  la  Reine  to  the  Church  of  the  Assoraption, 
in  front  of  which  M.  Duplay  lived,  I  found  the  streets 
greatly  agitated  and  full  of  people. 

The  red  flag,  the  Mayor,  the  dragoons,  and  the  paid 
guard  were  seen  to  pass  ;  then,  again,  they  had  heard  the 
terrible  discharge  of  musketry  ;  so  that  seeing  me  come 
from  the  Champ  de  Mars,  running,  the  perspiration  drop- 
ping off  me,  and  all  covered  with  blood,  every  one  inquired 
of  me  the  whole  way  along, — "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

I  had  but  one  reply  to  make,  and  that  while  I  was  run- 
ning. 

"  The  dragoons  and  the  paid  guard  are  slaughtering  the 
people  !  " 

I  found  M.  Duplay  at  his  door,  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
neighbors  and  acquaintances.  I  related  to  him  all  that 
had  taken  place. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  said  he  ;  "  the  Jacobins  must  be  informed  of 
this.     Quick  ! — let  us  run  to  the  club  !  " 

About  fifty  members  awaited  the  news  with  impatience. 
They  had,  as  yet,  heard  nothing.  I  was  the  first  messen- 
ger of  the  mournful  intelligence. 

They  said  that  M.  Robespierre  must  at  once  be  informed, 
and  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  the  Assembly  to  fetch 
him. 


LOVE     AND    LIBERTY.  251 

The  Jacobins  knew  one  fact,  and  that  was,  that  all  the 
blame  would  be  left  on  their  shoulders.  It  was  they  who 
had  taken  the  initiative  in  the  affair  of  the  petition.  The 
•Constitutionals,  who  had  separated  from  them,  in  order  to 
form  the  new  cluhs  Feuillants,  washed  their  hands  of  this 
popular  movement  in  opposition  to  the  decree  of  the 
Assembly. 

They  thanked  M.  Duplay  ancT  myself,  and  refused  to 
recognise  any  petition  tending  to  the  dethronement  of  the 
King.  Everything  was  circulated  in  the  name  of  the 
Assembly,  and  the  society  swore  anew  fidelity  to  the  Con- 
stitution and  submission  to  the  decrees  of  the  Assembly. 

After  what  had  presented  itself  to  my  view  the  preced- 
ing daj's,  and  after  what  I  had  written  at  the  dictation  of 
Citizen  Brissot,  I  found  this  submission  too  prompt.  There 
was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  an  abandonment  of  the  rights 
of  the  people,  and  a  cowardice  which  disgusted  me. 

I  left  the  club,  and  returned  pensively  to  the  house. 

A  half  an  hour  or  so  after,  might  be  heard  a  great  dis- 
turbance towards  the  Place  Louis  XV. 

It  was  the  paid  guard,  who  were  re-entering  Paris  by 
the  Rue  St.  Honore,  to  have  an  occasion  to  make  a  demon- 
stration against  the  Jacobins. 

One  had  hardly  the  time  to  form  palisades. 

The  paid  guard  collected  themselves  before  the  Convent, 
demanding  powder  to  blow  the  gate  and  demolish  the  den 
of  the  Republicans.  They  were  laughed  at ;  they  were 
applauded  ;  they  were  hissed.  The  street  was  full  of  peo- 
ple, looking  at  one  another,  ready  to  come  to  blows. 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  one  of  those  misunderstand- 
ings had  taken  place  which  places  the  gun  to  one's  shoul- 
der without  one's  knowing  upon  whom  to  fire. 

All  at  once,  I  could  perceive,  in  the  Rue  Luxembourg,  a 
man  gliding  down  the  street,  with  an  evident  desire  to  pass 
unnoticed. 

I  pulled  my  master's  coat,  and  whispered  to  him,  "The 
Citizen  Robespierre. 

It  was  indeed  none  other  but  he,  who  had  been  sent  to 
the  Assembly,  and  who  had  arrived  there  just  in  time  to 
have  the  door  shut  on  his  nose. 

It  was  evident  that  if  he  was  recognised  by  the  paid 
guard,  he  would  run  the  risk  of  being  shot. 


252  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

He  was  at  this  moment  recognised  by  a  group  of  persons, 
and  cheered.     No  doubt,  they  were  Jacobins. 

He  quickened  his  pace,  descending  the  street,  to  gain 
speedily  the  Faubourg  St.  Hon  ore. 

At  the  Rue  de  Luxembourg,  several  cries  were  raised  of 
"  Vive  Robespierre  !  " 

He  turned  pale,  and  hesitated  whether  to  take  the  Lux- 
embourg or  continue  his  road.     He  continued. 

"  Vive  Robespierre  !  "  again  cried  a  man.  "  And  since 
it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  have  a  King,  why  not  have 
him  ?  " 

Robespierre  thought  himself  lost.  He  looked  on  all  sides 
for  shelter. 

Duplay  rushed  towards  him. 

"  At  my  house — at  my  house,  citizen  !  "  said  he.  "  My 
name  is  Duplay  !  I  am  master  carpenter,  and  a  good 
citizen  ! " 

"  Yes,  yes — at  our  house  ! "  said  Madame  Duplay  and 
Mademoiselle  Cornelie. 

And  all  three — the  man  and  the  two  women — surrounded 
Robespierre,  who,  without  the  slightest  resistance,  allowed 
himself  to  be  led  into  the  alley. 

I  entered  last,  and  locked  the  door. 

The  retreat  was  effected  so  prudently,  that  hardly  a  soul 
had  perceived  the  manoeuvre. 

Those  that  did  see  him  said  nothing,  so  that  no  noise  was 
made  at  the  door. 

Robespierre  was  extremely  pale.  He  sat  down,  or  rather 
fell,  on  the  first  chair  that  came  in  his  way.  Mademoiselle 
Cornelie  wiped  his  forehead  with  her  pocket  handkerchief, 
while  Madame  Duplay  brought  him  a  glass  of  fresh  water. 

I  placed  the  glass  to  his  lips,  but  his  hand  shook  so,  that 
he  made  the  glass  chink  against  his  teeth. 

However  he  drank,  looked  around  him,  tried  to  smile,  and 
said,  "  I  see  that  I  am  with  friends." 

"  Say,  rather,  with  admirers — with  devoted  admirers  !  " 
replied  M.  Duplay. 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  replied  the  three  women. 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  known  it,"  said  M.  Duplay,  "  I  would  not 
have  allowed  you  to  present  yourself  at  the  National  As- 
sembly." 

"  How  so  ?  "  said  Robespierre. 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  2d" 

"Yes  ;  it  was  Rene," — M.  Duplay  pointed  me  out, — "it 

was  Rene,  ag 1  young  man,  a  staunch  patriot,  and  a  friend 

of  .INI.  Drouet  de  St.  Menehould,  who,  you  know,  arrested 
the  King;  it  was  Rene"  who  came  and  announced  the  mas- 
sacre on  the  Champ  de  Mars.  We  have  but  one  bond  to 
the  Jacobins,  and,  as  I  belong  to  the  club " 

"  Ah,  I  now  recognise  you,"  said  Robespierre. 

"  Then  it  was  decided  to  go  and  fetch  you.'' 

"And  1  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the  gates  shut.  Nbl 
■wishing  to  return  borne,  at  the  bottom  of  the  Marais,  I  was 
going  to  get  a  little  shelter  at  the  house  of  Petion,  who 
lives  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore.  You  came  across  me  on 
m}r  road,  and  brought  me  here.  I  ask  permission  to  remain 
here  all  night.  Surrounded  by  the  spies  of  Lafayette,  and 
satellites  of  Bailly,  the  life  of  an  honest  man  runs  great 
danger.  I  do  not  fear  death,  but  my  ambition  is  to  die  in 
a  way  useful  to  my  country." 

I  assisted  at  this  scene  without  the  slightest  emotion. 
It  seemed  to  me  a  great  honor  to  address  this  great  man. 

"Then,"  said  he,  "you  are  the  friend  of  the  Citizen 
Drouet  ?  " 

"  He  cared  for  me  like  a  father,"  said  I.  "  The  little 
I  know  I  owe  to  him  and  to  Rousseau." 

"Ah,  young  man,  you  have  Rousseau  ?  " 

"  I  know  him  by  heart." 

"  Good  master — great  master  !  I,  also,  was  his  scholar, 
and  I  hope  to  do  him  credit,  one  of  these  daj7s." 

Duplay  and  bis  wife  listened  with  their  mouths  open, 
nearly  on  their  knees. 

For  some  time,  Duplay  seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  ask  a 
question.  His  wife  and  he  had  exchanged  two  or  three  sig- 
nificant glances. 

"  Would  the  Citizen  Robespierre  do  us  the  honor  of  sup- 
ping with  us  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  trouble  you  so  much,"  said  Robespierre. 
"  And  then,  again,  my  sister  would  be  anxious." 

"  But  you  were  going  to  sup  with  the  Citizen  Petion." 

"Yes 5  but  from  Petion's  I  could  have  let  my  sister 
know." 

"  Very  well ;  she  can  be  informed  from  here  as  well." 

"  Have  you  any  person  certain  ?  " 

"  There  is  me,  citizen,"  said  I. 


254  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

"  Would  you  have  that  kindness  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  only  too  happy  to  render  this  service  to 
M.  Duplay." 

"  Then  have  the  goodness  to  give  me  pen,  ink,  and  pa- 
per." 

The  two  young  girls  brought  him  the  pen  and  paper. 

He  wrote,  in  a  small  hand,  the  following : — 

"My  Sister, — 

"  Don't  be  uneasy.     I  am  in  safety. 

"  Your  brother, 

"  Maximilian." 

He  then  sealed  his  letter,  and  wrote  the  address  in  a  bold 
hand,  which  reminded  me  greatly  of  his  character, — 

To  Mdlle.  Charlotte  de  Robespierre. 

No.  7  Hue  Saintange 

At  the  Marais. 

I  took  the  letter,  and  went  on  my  mission. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

INSTALLATION. 


I  have  already  said  that  nature  had  gifted  me  with 
strong  legs,  and  it  was  in  days  like  the  present  that  I  ap- 
preciated the  gift. 

As  yet,  I  knew  not  sufficient  of  Paris  to  be  enabled  to 
extricate  myself  from  the  labyrinth  of  streets  which  joined 
the  Rue  St.  Honore,  and  which  stretched  from  the  Rue 
Aubry  le  Boucher  to  the  Rue  Boucherat,  so  that  I  spent 
six  or  seven  minutes  in  making  the  necessary  inquiries,  and 
at  last  arrived. 

I  saw  a  sombre  house  in  a  sombre  street.  It  was  No.  7. 
I  mounted  a  dark-looking  staircase,  and  arrived  at  the 
second  floor. 

Three  doors  opened  on  the  landing  :  one  of  them  bore  an 
inscription : — 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  255 

"  Le  Citoyen  Maximilian  de  Robespierre,  et  Depute  k 
l'Assemblee  Nationale." 

I  knocked. 

I  heard  footsteps  approaching  the  door,  and  then  stop 
cautiously. 

"  Is  it  you,  Maximilian  ?"  asked  a  voice,  in  which  could 
be  discerned  traces  of  emotion. 

"No,  mademoiselle,"  I  replied;  "but  I  bring  news  of 
him." 

The  door  was  quickly  opened. 

"Nothing  has  happened  to  him  ?  "  asked  a  stately  female 
of  about  forty  years. 

"  Here  are  a  few  words  to  reassure  you,"  I  replied. 

I  then  handed  her  the  Utter. 

It  was  too  dark  for  her  to  be  enabled  to  read  it  in  the 
passage  on  the  landing. 

Mademoiselle  tie  Robespierre  re-entered  the  apartmentj 
inviting  me  to  follow  her. 

I  entered  a  sort  of  dining-room,  opening  on  a  study  and 
bedroom. 

All  was  cold,  cheerless,  and  almost  unfurnished.  If  not 
actually  miserable,  it  was  far  below  mediocrity. 

Mademoiselle  Robespierre  read  her  brother's  letter. 

"When  my  brother  thinks  it  needless  to  tell  me  where 
he  is,  he  has  his  reasons.     You  have  seen  him,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  have  just  left  him,  mademoiselle." 

"  Nothing  has  happened  to  him  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

"  Give  him  my  congratulations,  sh\  and  thank  for  me 
those  people  who  have  been  hospitable  to  him.  I  would 
that,  after  the  long  walk  you  have  had,  I  could  offer  you 
refreshment ;  but  my  brother  is  so  sober,  and  has  such  few 
wants,  that  we  have  naught  but  water  in  the  house." 

At  this  moment,  the  tramp  of  footsteps  was  heard  in  the 
corridor.  A  woman  showed  herself  at  the  door  of  the 
dining-room,  and,  dimly,  a  man  could  be  perceived  behind 
her. 

Despite  the  semi-darkness,  I  recognised  the  female,  and 
could  not  resist  crying  out,  "  Madame  Roland  ! " 

Mademoiselle  Robespierre  repeated,  in  an  accent  of  as- 
tonishment, "  Madame  Roland  !  " 

"  Yes,  I,  myself,  mademoiselle,  and  my   husband,  who, 


256  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

hearing  that  Robespierre  has  been  threatened  by  his 
enemies,  are  come  to  offer  him  a  shelter  in  our  little  house 
at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Guenegaud." 

"  I  thank  you  in  my  brothers  name,  madame,"  replied 
Mademoiselle  Charlotte,  with  dignity.  "  He  has  already 
found  the  asylum  which  }rou  so  nobly  offer  him,  and  which 
I  know  not  myself.  Here  is  the  gentleman  who  brought 
the  news,"  continued  she,  pointing  me  out  to  Madame 
Roland. 

"  That  proves,  mademoiselle,"  said,  in  his  turn,  the 
Citizen  Roland,  "  that  other  citizens  are  more  favored  than 
we;"  and  remarking  that  he  was  unwilling  to  intrude 
longer  on  her  privacy,  he  bowed,  and  departed  with  his 
wife. 

As  my  errand  was  fulfilled,  I  followed  them,  and  returned 
in  close  conversation  with  them.  Madame  Roland  was  at 
the  Jacobin  Club  when  the  paid  guard  made  an  irruption 
among  them. 

The  terror  was  such  among  -the  few  members  of  the 
society  present,  that  one  of  them,  anxious  to  escape,  escala- 
ded  the  gallery  set  aside  for  women.  Madame  Roland 
made  him  ashamed  of  himself,  and  compelled  him  to 
descend  the  way  that  he  had  come. 

They  asked  me  about  Robespierre.  I  told  them  that  I 
was  not  authorized  to  inform  them  of  his  place  of  shelter, 
but  only  could  assure  them  that  he  was  in  a  place  of  safety 
among  people  who  would  die  for  him. 

Madame  Roland  asked  me  to  tell  Robespierre  that  they 
would  bring  him  to  trial — that  is  to  say,  accuse  him  that 
evening  at  the  Feuillants.  In  that  certainty,  she  and  her 
husband  were  going  to  M.  Buzal,  to  pray  him  to  defend  his 
colleague. 

We  separated  at  the  top  of  the  Pont  Neuf — M.  Roland 
and  Madame  to  go  down  the  Rue  du  Roule.  I  to  follow 
the  Rue  St.  Honore. 

It  was  quite  night  when  I  arrived  at  Duplay's.  Feli- 
cien  had  rejoined  the  family  during  my  absence  ;  they  were 
at  table,  and  he  regarded  askance  the  new  arrival,  who  took 
the  place  of  honor  between  Madame  Duplay  and  Made- 
moiselle Cornelie.  I  told  M.  Robespierre  all  about  the  ful- 
filment of  my  message,  and  reported  to  him  his  sister's 
reply. 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  257 

I  told  him  also  that  M.  and  Madame  Roland  had  paid  a 
visit  to  his  house. 

Here  he  interrupted,  and  repeated  after  me, — "Citizen 
Roland!  Citizeness  Roland  !  " 

He  appeared  so  astonished  at  the  visit,  that  he  was  some 
time  asking  me  the  cause. 

I  took  my  place  at  the  table. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Robespierre,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
with  his  habitual  politeness,  "  does  it  please  you  to  serve 
me  to  the  end  ?  " 

"  Not  only  will  it  be  an  honor,  and  a  pleasure,"  replied 
I,  "  but  a  duty." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  this  time  you  have  only  a  few  steps 
to  go,  and  I  shall  not  have  to  write  a  letter.  Go  to  the 
Rue  St.  Anne  ;  on  the  left  hand  side,  in  going  up  the 
street,  by  the  Boulevards,  you  will  see  the  Hotel  de  Bern-; 
there  }*ou  will  incpiire  for  a  young  man  named  St.  Just. 
He  lives  on  the  fourth  floor,  in  a  room  overlooking  the  court. 
If  he  be  at  home,  tell  him  that  I  want  him.  My  kind 
host,  I  hope,  will  allow  me  to  receive  him  here.  At  present, 
this  young  man  is  of  no  account,  but  one  day  he  will  lead 
us  all.  If  he  be  not  at  home,  well  ;  you  leave  your  name 
and  the  address  of  this  house,  where  I  have  found  such 
good  friends,  and  such  noble  protectors,  and  under  the  ad- 
dress you  write,  '  Urgent  for  the  sake  of  the  public  safety.' 
Whenever  he  returns,  he  will  come  straight  here,  you  may 
be  sure." 

I  wished  to  leave  the  table,  but,  placing  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  he  said,  "  Finish  your  supper.  I  am  not  in  so 
great  a  hurry,  and  we  have  all  the  night  before  us." 

Five  minutes  after,  I  was  proceeding  up  the  Rue  St. 
Anne. 

The  Hotel  de  Berry  led  out  of  the  Rue  Neuve  des  Petits- 
champs  and  the  Rue  Neuve  St.  Augustin. 

I  asked  for  Citizen  St.  Just. 

The  concierge  threw  his  eyes  ever  the  keys  hung  on  the 
wall,  and  saw  that  of  St.  Just  was  not  there. 

"No.  19,  fourth  story,  at  the  bottom  of  the  corridor." 

I  mounted  a  dark  staircase,  and  found  the  indicated  cor- 
ridor, and  in  that  corridor,  No.  19. 

I  knocked ;  a  powerful  voice  said,  "  Come  in  !  " 

I  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  saw  a  young  map  in 
16 


258  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

his  shirt-sleeves,  working  by  an  open  window  at  the  cor- 
rection of  proofs. 

He  was  so  absorbed  in  his  work,  that  I  approached  and 
touched  him  before  he  turned  round. 

The  book,  the  proofs  of  which  he  was  correcting,  was,  I 
could  see,  entitled,   "  Mespasse  temps  ou  le  Voirvel  organe." 

The  preoccupation  of  the  young  poet  was  caused  by  the 
desire  to  find  a  rh3rme. 

The  rhyme  found,  he  turned  to  me. 

"  Pardon,"  said  he  ;  "  what  want  you  ?  " 

"  Citizen  St.  Just,"  replied  I,  "  I  come  on  behali  of 
Citizen  Robespierre." 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  desires  your  presence  immediately." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  If  you  are  not  prepared,  I  will  leave  you  the  address ; 
but  if  you  are,  I  will  conduct  you  thither." 

"  Is  he  at  the  Rue  Saintange?" 

"No;  he  is  close  by  here — in  the  Rue  St.  Honore." 

"At  the  Jacobins?  " 

"There  are  no  longer  Jacobins.     The  club  is  dead." 

"  Who  dared  do  it  ?  " 

"  The  paid  guard,  who,  an  hour  before,  dared  do  another 
thing." 

"  What  was  the  other  thing  ?  " 

"  Fire  on  the  people  at  the  Champ  de  Mars — slay,  per- 
chance, six  or  seven  hundred  persons  !  " 

St.  Just  shouted  with  rage. 

"  What !  3rou  a  patriot — the  friend  of  M.  Robespierre, — 
and  not  know  better  than  that  what  takes  place  in  Paris  ?  " 
said  I. 

"  I  promised  mjr  publisher  to  have  those  proofs  corrected 
by  Thursday  ;  and  in  order  to  accomplish  this  I  told  the 
servant  not  to  disturb  me  for  anything.  He  brought  my 
breakfast  in  my  chamber,  and  here  is  my  dinner  already 
served.  1  have  not  had  time  to  eat.  I  knew  last  night 
from  the  Jacobins  they  must  withdraw  the  petition  ;  and  I 
doubted  not  that,  the  petition  withdrawn,  there  might  be  a 
disturbance  at  the  Champ  de  Mars.  But  let  us  not  lose  a 
moment.  Since  Robespierre  requires  me,  I  am  at  his 
orders." 

The  young  man  put  on  a  white  waistcoat,  irreproachable 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  259 

in  its  cleanliness  ;  a  gray  coat ;  a  sword  and  dagger  he 
hung  at  his  side;  then  took  his  hat,  and  said  but  the 
words,   "  Show  the  way  !  " 

I  went  in  front,  and  he  followed. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

A    BREAK. 


Here  comes  a  hreak  in  my  personal  adventures  during 
the  course  of  the  great  struggle  for  liberty  throughout 
France.  I  leading  the  way,  and  St.  Just  following,  we 
went  down  the  Rue  St.  Anne,  and  had  almost  reached  the 
Rue  Neuve  des  Augustins.  when  the  powerful  voice  of  St. 
Just  (one  that  was  soon  to  be  heard  by  the  ^Nation,  which 
was  to  hush  at  his  first  word)  addressed  me. 

"Citizen!" 

"  Citizen  St.  Just  ?  " 

"  Give  me  the  address  whither  we  are  going  !  "  he  said. 

"  Why,  I  am  leading  you  !     Do  you  mistrust  me  ?  " 

His  face  flushed. 

"  I  mistrust  no  man,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  for  the  address  ?  " 

"By  way  of  precaution." 

"  "What  need  is  there  of  precaution  ?  " 

"  Was  not  the  Citizen  Robespierre  in  danger  not  an  hour 
since,  by  being  in  the  streets  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  the  Citizen  St.  Just  is  equally  in  danger  of  a  bul- 
let from  the  barrel  of  a  paid  guard." 

"  I  shall  not  desert  you." 

«  But " 

11  Yes,  citizen." 

'•  What  if  you  are  killed  ?  "  St.  Just  replied  calmly.  "  I 
should  not  know  whither  \ou  came." 

"  True,"  I  replied ;  and  he  taking  out  his  tablets,  wrote 
upon  them,  from  my  dictation,  the  address  of  the  Citizen 
Duplay. 

In  this  act  may  be  seen  an  example  of  that  forethought 


260  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

and  preparation  .which  gave  St.  Just  a  position  to  which 
otherwise  he  never  would  have  attained. 

''Good!"  he  said,  having  carefully  taken  down  every 
particular.     "  Go  forward." 

How  necessary  was  his  precaution,  the  next  few  minutes 
showed. 

We  had  only  reached  the  end  of  the  Rue  St.  Anne,  when 
a  sudden  rush  of  people  along  the  Rue  Neuve  des  Augus- 
tins  warned  us  that  danger  was  at  hand. 

I  turned  and  looked  at  St.  Just. 

Without  regarding  me,  while  apparently  his  sight  was  on 
the  alert  on  all  sides,  he  repeated  his  direction,  "  Go  for- 
ward." 

Suddenly,  shots  were  heard,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  the 
street  surged  with  people,  who  poured  out  from  the  houses 
and  joined  those  who  were  speeding  down  the  street,  run- 
ning by  their  sides  and  asking  what  the  commotion  meant. 
So  far,  very  few  of  the  citizens  were  aware  of  the  massacres 
that  had  taken  place  upon  the  altar  of  the  country. 

Paris,  in  fact,  was  that  day,  for  the  first  time,  wholly 
shadowed  by  the  red  flag — which  was  not  to  be  furled  again 
until  a  reign  of  terror,  never  equalled  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  was  to  be  followed  by  the  inauguration  of  Napoleon's 
splendor. 

We  were  proceeding  as  rapidly  as  possible  past  the  cur- 
rent of  excited  people,  when,  unquestionably,  a  deadly  fire 
opened  from  a  small  turning  on  the  left. 

Suddenly,  I  turned  to  the  left,  to  see  who  had  struck  me  ; 
for  I  felt  that  a  blowT  had  been  aimed  at  my  shoulder  which 
had  nearly  sent  me  off  my  feet. 

As  I  turned,  no  man  faced  me,  and  I  was  wondering  where 
the  blow  came  from  ;  when,  as  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
as  I  received  the  blow,  I  felt  sick  and  weak. 

It  was  a  woman  who  screamed,  "  Blood  ! " 

She  pointed  to  the  ground. 

As  though  looking  through  a  mist,  I  followed  the  direction 
of  her  pointing  finger. 

There  was  blood  upon  the  ground. 

All  this  had  passed  in  a  space  not  longer  than  six  mo- 
ments. 

"  Citizen"  said  the  voice  of  St.  Just,  "you  are  wounded  ; 
the  ball;  however,  was  meant  for  me." 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  261 

The  last  words  sounded  faintly  in  my  ears,  and  I  thought 
that  he,  too,  was  hurt. 

"  And  you,  citizen — are  you  wounded  ?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  in  a  still  fainter  voice,  as  it  appeared 
to  me ;  but  it  was  my  senses  forsaking  me. 

"  Citizens,"  I  heard  him  say,  "  if  I  fall,  you  will  find  an 
address  in  my  pocket,  which  is  the  home  of  this  lad." 

That  was  all  I  heard.  Suddenly,  the  earth  appeared  to 
slip  from  under  me,  and  there  was  an  end  of  my  conscious- 
ness. 

When  next  I  knew  myself,  I  awoke  to  life  with  the  feel- 
ing of  a  beating  red-hot  hammer  upon  my  left  shoulder ;  I 
appeared  to  be  struggling  out  of  a  state  of  fearful  horror. 
When  this  cleared  off,  and  I  knew  nn-self  to  be  once  more 
alive,  once  more  Citizen  Rene  Besson,  I  was  in  a  little  room, 
which  I  soon  learnt  was  an  apartment  belonging  to  Citizen 
Duplay;  and,  at  my  side,  reading  a  book,  was  Citizeness 
Cornelie  Duplay,  who  had  constituted  herself  my  nurse. 

And  inasmuch  as  this  history  is  not  so  much  one  of  my- 
self as  of  the  Revolution,  and  of  my  part  in  it,  I  will  only 
briefly  recount  the  events  of  the  next  few  weeks — of  the 
next  few  months,  in  relation  to  myself. 

It  appeared  that  I  had  been  wounded  in  the  shoulder, 
not  dangerously  ;  but  the  loss  of  blood  was  very  great,  and 
I  was  weak  as  a  little  child.  I  could  not  raise  my  hand 
even  to  my  head,  while  I  had  scarcely  voice  sufficient  with 
which  to  thank  my  kind  nurse  for  the  offices  she  performed 
about  me. 

For  weeks  I  lay  upon  that  narrow  bed,  my  constitution, 
and  the  temperate  life  I  had  hitherto  led,  fighting  well  in, 
my  favor.  I  could  tell  through  chapters  how  gradually  the 
memory  of  Sophie  Gerbaut  faded  from  my  mind,  and  of  how 
Cornelie  Duplay  took  her  place  in  my  heart. 

But  I  said  nothing  of  my  love ;  and  when,  weak,  but 
quite  safe,  I  sat  once  more  at  Citizen  Duplay's  hospitable 
table,  I  still  kept  my  passion  to  myself. 

Released,  however,  as  I  was,  from  my  bed,  I  was  still  a 
prisoner  in  the  house,  which  I  did  not  quit  for  a  couple 
more  months. 

Meanwhile  the  Revolution  was  progressing. 

The  sight  of  the  altar  of  the  countr}',  after  the  flight  of 
the  people  from  its  steps,  was  terrible.     It  is  said  that  the 


262  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

great  mass  of  the  dead  lying  bleeding  upon  that  mighty 
structure  was  composed  of  women  and  children. 

As  the  National  Guard  marched  back  to  the  city,  after 
this  massacre  of  many  hundreds — a  massacre  which  would 
have  been  multiplied  by  ten,  had  not  Lafayette  thrown 
himself  before  the  cannon — they  were  greeted  with  low 
cries  of  "  Murder  !  "     "  Murder  !  "     "  Vengeance  !  " 

That  day  utterly  parted  the  people  from  the  thought  of 
royalty.  Paris  was  now  read}'  to  spill  blood,  for  massacre 
would  now  take  the  name  of  vengeance.  In  many  a  street 
in  the  common  parts  of  Paris  were  to  be  found  the  surviv- 
ing relatives  of  those  who  had  been  slain.  These  were 
naturally  prompted  by  a  spirit  of  revenge — by  a  determin- 
ation to  pay  blood  with  blood. 

Nothing  could  wash  out  this  hate — no  words  uttered  by 
the  weak  and  vacillating  King  could  now  stem  the  torrent 
of  hate.  Louis  XVI  and  Marie  Antoinette  were  already 
condemned  to  death  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Nothing 
could  save  them. 

The  people  were  now  ripe  for  rage,  and  therefore  the 
terrible  Danton  gained  power.  The  total  reverse  of  Robes- 
pierre, they  were  to  rise  to  power  together.  Robespierre 
was  feeble,  small,  thin,  and  excessively  temperate.  Habit- 
ually, he  ate  little,  drank  water,  and  used  perfumes  when 
he  was  not  surrounded  by  flowers  ;  for  he  was  as  passionate 
an  admirer  of  flowers  as  Mirabeau  himself.  Danton,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  a  huge  monster — athletic,  rude,  coarse. 
He  pleased  the  worst  rabble  of  the  city,  because  he  resem- 
bled them.  His  eloquence  was  as  thunder,  and  his  very 
phrases  were  short,  clear,  and  plain,  like  the  words  of  a 
general  accustomed  to  command.  His  very  gestures  intox- 
icated the  people,  who,  however,  more  than  by  anything, 
were  attracted  by  his  wit,  which,  coarse,  brutal,  and  often 
unjust,  was  never  obscure,  and  always  to  the  point.  Men 
who  went  to  hear  his  wit,  remained  to  be  converted  to  his 
ways  of  thinking. 

His  one  quality  was  ambition — his  one  passion,  excite- 
ment. He  was  quite  devoid  of  honor,  principles,  or  mor- 
alitj' — he  was  already  drunk  with  the  Revolution;  but  it 
was  a  drunkenness  which  produced  madness — not  sleep. 
Moreover,  he  had  the  peculiar  power  of  controlling  himself 
even  in  his  most  excited  moments — times  when  he  would 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  263 

launch  a  bitter  joke  in  the  midst  of  his  denunciations — a 
joke  which  should  compel  his  hearers  to  yell  with  laughter, 
while  he  himself  remained  perfectly  impassive.  He 
laughed  contemptuously  at  all  honesty.  He  despised  a 
man  who  could  pity.  In  a  word,  he  was  a  wild  beast  gifted 
with  speech,  but  who  could  no  more  think  beyond  himself 
and  his  wants  or  desires,  than  can  the  beasts  that  perish. 

The  first  great  act  of  the  people  after  the  massacre  upon 
the  altar  of  the  country,  was  the  expression  of  a  desire  to 
honor  the  remains  of  Voltaire — the  man  whose  writings, 
together  with  those  of  Rousseau,  had  actually  sown  the 
seed  of  revolution  against  that,  royalty  which  in  Gaul  and 
France  had  unceasingly  mastered  the  people  through  two 
weary  thousand  years,  before  the  death  of  Voltaire,  in  1778 
— thirteen  years  before  the  events  I  am  now  recording. 
The  power  of  the  Court  and  the  Church  still  maintained 
such  sway  over  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  people,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  hope  to  bury  the  great  man  without 
creating  a  popular  outrage.  His  nephew,  therefore,  secretly 
removed  the  body  from  Paris,  where  Voltaire  died,  and 
bore  it  far  awa}'  to  the  Abbey  of  Sellieres,  in  Champagne, 
where  it  found  a  resting-place. 

Now  it  was  the  National  Assembly  ordered  the  removal 
of  Voltaire's  remains  to  the  Pantheon,  the  cathedral  of 
philosophy,  where  lie  buried  many  great  men — that  build- 
ing upon  the  face  of  which  has  been  carved  "  France,  in 
gratitude  to  great  men." 

"The  people  owe  their  freedom  to  Voltaire!"  cried 
Regnault  de  St.  Jean  d'Angely ;  "for  by  enlightening 
them  he  gave  them  power.  Nations  are  enthralled  by 
ignorance  alone;  and  when  the  torch  of  reason  displays  to 
them  the  ignominy  of  bearing  these  chains,  they  blush  to 
wear  them,  and  they  snap  them  asunder!  " 

Like  a  conqueror,  seated  on  his  trophies,  they  placed 
Voltaire's  coffin  in  the  midst  of  the  spot  upon  which  the 
horrible  Bastille  had  stood,  and  upon  a  great  heap  of  stones 
which  had  formed  part  of  that  stronghold  ;  and  thus  Vol- 
taire, dead,  triumphed  over  those  stones  which  had  gained 
a  victory  over  him  in  life,  for  Voltaire  had  been  a  prisoner 
in  the  Bastille. 

On  one  of  the  blocks  which  formed  this  second  altar  of 
the  country  they  carved  this  inscription  : 


264  love    and    liberty. 

"Receive  on  this  spot,  where  despotism  once  fet- 
tered THEE,  THE  HONORS  DEGREED  TO  THEE  BY  THY 
COUNTRY." 

All  Paris  poured  out  to  walk  in  the  triumphal  procession 
which  accompanied  the  quiet  ashes  to  their  last  resting-place. 
The  car  upon  which  the  coffin  lay  was  harnessed  hy  twelve 
horses,  four  ahreast,  their  manes  plaited  with  golden  tassels 
and  beautiful  flowers,  the  reins  being  held  by  men  dressed 
in  ancient  Greek  costume.  On  the  car  was  a  sort  of  altar 
upon  which  lay  a  waxen  statue  of  the  philosopher  crowned 
with  laurel.     This  was  placed  over  the  remains. 

The  money  spent  upon  this  pageant  was  immense ; 
whence  it  came,  no  one  has  ever  learnt.  It  w7as  almost 
miraculous.  Meanwhile,  the  people  were  living  upon  a 
couple  of  ounces  of  bread  apiece,  and  a  few  miserable  vege- 
tables. That  passion  and  vengeance  could  have  been  kept 
alive  upon  such  reducing  diet,  is  the  truest  evidence  of  the 
justice  of  the  national  cause. 

The  military  formed  a  portion  of  the  procession,  while 
cannon  boomed  incessantly  during  the  march.  Finally — 
and  it  is  the  most  significant  fact  of  this  remarkable  pageant 
— a  printing-jjress  was  made  to  take  part  in  the  procession. 
At  this  press,  agile  printers  were  taking  off  impressions  of 
sentences  in  honor  of  Voltaire,  the  printed  papers  being 
cast  to  the  seething  multitude  fresh  printed  as  they  were. 

Here  and  there  the  red  cap — the  cap  of  liberty — might 
be  seen,  surmounting  the  ominous  pike. 

Every  actor  and  actress  in  Paris  followed,  dressed  in  the 
costumes  of  the  characters  of  Voltaire's  plays.  Members  of 
all  the  learned  bodies  followed;  a  gigantic  pyramid  was  car- 
ried along,  bearing  the  titles  of  all  his  works  ;  and,  finally, 
the  statue  of  the  demigod  himself — a  statue  of  gold — was 
borne  upon  the  shoulders  of  men  dressed  in  Grecian  cos- 
tume, this  being  followed  by  a  casket  of  gold,  containing  a 
copy  of  each  of  his  works. 

Troops  of  singing-girls  dressed  in  white  met  the  quiet 
cause  of  all  this  demonstration,  and  showered  white  flowers 
upon  the  catafalque ;  hymns  to  his  genius  were  sung,  the 
air  was  sick  with  perfume,  and  the  city  trembled  with  the 
roar  of  adoration. 

Night  fell  before  the  procession  reached  the   temple  dedi- 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  265 

cated  to  the  remains  of  groat  men,  an<l  here  Voltaire  was 
enthroned,  for  he  was  King  of  France  in  that  hour;  and 
the  weak,  vacillating,  and  kindly  Louis  XVI,  away  there 
in  the  Tuileri.es,  was  crownless,  awaiting  to  pay  in  his  per- 
son— he  the  least  odious  of  his  race — for  the  unceasing 
crimes  and  cruelties  of  his  forefathers. 


CHAPTER  XL VIII. 

THE    THREAT    IS    LOUDER. 


Throughout  August,  affairs  were  tending  more  and 
more  to  dangerous  threats.  The  National  Assembly  were 
ostensibly  framing  a  new  constitution  ;  but  the  delegates 
proceeded  very  slowly,  except  in  the  matter  of  contradiction, 
at  which  they  were  very  brisk. 

The  King's  brothers  became  still  further  estranged  from 
him  ;  while  the  efforts  made  beyond  the  frontier,  tending  to 
liberate  the  royal  family  from  the  state  of  imprisonment  in 
which  they  lived,  only  tended  to  hasten  the  growing  belief 
of  the  people  that  by  the  death  of  the  King,  alone  could 
the  nation  hop*e  to  destroy  the  chances  and  the  plans  of 
those  Royalists  who  had  escaped  from  France,  and  were 
blindly  endeavoring  to  serve  their  own  interests  by  inducing 
foreign  Courts  to  declare  war  against  France,  and  march 
upon  Paris. 

Throughout  this  period  the  King  gave  little  expression  of 
opinion,  worked  and  read  incessantly,  and  bore  the  threat- 
ening aspect  of  affairs  about  him  and  his  family  with  great 
patience.  He  was  an  estimable  man,  honest  to  a  degree, 
but  stupid,  hopelessly  prejudiced,  and  apparently  without 
any  capability  of  experiencing  tenderness  or  sorrow. 

It  was  now  that  Roland,  the  husband  of  the  celebrated 
Madame  Roland,  rose  to  eminence.  Nothing  in  himself,  he 
became  notorious  through  his  wife — one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful, accomplished,  and  brilliant,  as  one  of  the  most  unfor- 
tunate, the  world  has  yet  seen.  Her  husband  was  much 
older  than  herself — cold,  deadly,  impassive  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  his  steady  principles  were  never  for  one  moment 
shaken. 


266  loy;,    AM)    LIBERTY. 

She  was  a  republican,  heart  and  soul;  and  when  the  peo- 
ple, towards  the  clo.se  of  the  year  1791,  began  to  believe 
that  the  differences  between  the  King  and  the  nation  would 
be  amicably  settled,  she  never  swerved  one  moment  in  main- 
taining that  a  republic,  and  only  a  republic,  could  save 
France  from  invasion. 

General  Dumouriez  was  also  rising  to  power.  He  was 
rather  a  courtier  than  a  soldier,  although  he  was  destined 
to  win  victories :  especially  amongst  women,  he  was  very 
successful.  He  attempted  to  obtain  favor  from  Madame 
Roland  herself;  but  that  single-hearted  lady,  true  to  her 
ice-cold  husband,  put  down  the  General's  pretensions  with 
calm  contempt.  He,  however,  gained  much  attention  from 
Marie  Antoinette,  as  the  man  who,  amongst  those  who  had 
acquired  the  confidence  of  the  people,  was  the  most  aristo- 
cratic, and  who  had,  therefore,  the  most  sympathy  with  the 
falling  royal  cause.  The  Queen  was  right.  After  gaining 
several  battles  for  France  against  the  Austrians,  he  turned 
his  army  upon  Paris,  intending  to  intimidate  the  Republi- 
cans. The  army  revolted,  and  Dumouriez  himself  had  to 
take  refuge  in  the  camp  of  those  very  Austrians  w'hom  but 
a  short  time  previously  he  had  conquered.  They  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him;  and,  finally,  he  fled  to  Eng- 
land, always  open  to  the  refugee,  and  there,  he  died  in  ob- 
scurity. 

This  general,  therefore,  helped  to  destroy  the  royal  fam- 
ily. At  his  first  interview  with  the  King,  he  said,  "  Sire, 
I  devote  m3'self  wholly  to  your  service.  But  a  minister  of 
to-day  is  no  longer  the  minister  of  yesterday.  Without 
ceasing  to  be  your  Majesty's  devoted  servant,  I  am  the 
slave  of  the  nation." 

The  Queen  sent  for  him  privately  when  he  had  become 
the  idol  of  the  people. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  "  you  are  all-powerful  at  this  moment ; 
but  it  is  through  popular  favor,  and  that  soon  destroys  its 
idols.  I  tell  3tou  1  oppose  the  changes  which  are  being 
made  in  the  constitution,  so  beware  !" 

"  I  am  confounded,"  the  General  replied ;  "  but  I  am 
more  the  servant  of  my  country  than  of  your  Majesty. 
Think  of  your  safety,  of  the  King's,  of  that  of  3'our  child- 
ren !  You  are  surrounded  by  enemies.  If,  in  the  King's 
interests,  you  oppose  the  new  constitution  made  by  the  As- 


LOVE     AND    LI15ERTY.  267 

sembly,  jrou  will  endanger  the  royal  family,  and  in  no  way 
prevent  the  course  of  events." 

"Sir,"  the  Queen  frantically  replied,  "this  state  of 
things  cannot  last  for  ever.     Beware  for  yourself.'* 

"Madame,"  said  Dumouriezj  who  had  accepted  the  post 
of  Premier  of  the  Ministry,  and  who,  at  this  time,  appeal's 
to  have  very  faithfully  served  the  nation — his  great  fault 
was  his  fickleness, — "madame,  when  I  became  Prime  Min- 
ister, I  knew  that  my  responsibility  was  not  my  greatest 
danger." 

The  Queen  shrank  hack.  a  Do  you  think  me  capable  of 
having  you  assassinated  ?  " 

Tears  were  upon  the  Queen's  face. 

"  Far  be  such  a  fearful  thought  from  me,  your  Majesty. 
Your  soul  is  great  and  noble,  and  the  bravery  you  have 
shown  on  many  occasions  has  for  ever  made  me  3-our  Majes- 
ty's most  devoted  slave." 

The  Queen's  anger  was  appeased  in  a  moment,  and  she 
placed  her  right  hand  upon  the  General's  arm  in  token  of 
reconciliation. 

Thus  it  was  that  this  unhappy  woman,  who  had  begun 
life  so  extravagantly,  while  the  masses  were  starving,  irri- 
tated the  people,  and  especially  all  those  who  had  dealings 
with  her,  b}-  the  apparent  childishness  and  weakness  of  her 
general  character.  It  was  felt  that  no  reliance  could  be 
placed  upon  her.  Born  of  the  great  feudal  Austrian  family 
about  whom  etiquette  was  so  plastered,  that  only  nobles 
could  sit  down  in  the  presence  of  the  nyal  family,  and 
then  upon  a  very  low  stool,  she  was  brought  to  France  at  a 
very  early  age,  to  a  Court  almost  as  ridiculous  as  the  one 
she  had  left.  But  while  the  Austrians  had  been  excited  to 
no  feelings  of  hate  against  their  Emperor,  Voltaire,  Rous- 
seau, Diderot,  had  taught  the  French  to  look  upon  royalty 
as  made  up  of  merciless,  greedy  puppets  ;  and,  unfortu- 
nately, Marie  Antoinette — a  pure  and  noble-hearted  woman 
in  herself — had  the  appearance  of  totally  agreeing  with 
this  description. 

AVhile  the  people  were  starving,  her  passion  for  jewels 
became  absorbing  ;  while  mothers  were  begging  meals  for 
their  little  ones,  she  was  taking  parts  in  little  comedies  at 
Versailles. 

Her  memory  can  scarcely  be  blamed.     She    had  never 


268  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

seen  the  people ;  and,  as  a  proof  that  she  knew  nothing 
about  them  and  their  wants,  we  hear  about  her  the  cele- 
brated anecdote,  which  helped  to  send  her  to  the  scaffold. 
Being  told  the  people  wanted  bread,  she  replied,  "  If  there 
is  no  bread,  why  do  they  not  eat  cake  ?  " 

The  people  never  forgave  that — she  washed  those  words 
only  partly  out  with  her  blood.  Did  she  really  mean  what 
she  said,  or  were  the  words  intended  for  a  joke  ?  Did  she 
really  think  that  if  there  was  no  bread  there  must  be 
cake  ;  or  did  she  utter  that  fatal  sentence  as  a  witticism  ? 
I  venture  to  think  that  she  was  ignorant  of  the  very  mean- 
ing of  starvation ;  for  courtiers  treat  kings  and  queens  like 
children.  A  misfortune  this,  when  the  people  expect  them 
to  be  men  and  women — the  condition  of  things  when  the 
Revolution  broke  out. 

Louis  XVI  was  incapable  of  managing  anything  but  a 
lock  ;  his  wife  thought  she  could  govern  for  him,  and  she 
made  a  sorry  mistake. 

The  King's  grandfather,  Louis  XV,  the  preceding  King, 
had  said,  "After  me,  the  deluge."  The  deluge  was  upon 
the  royal  family,  sweeping  around  them,  and  was  to  over- 
whelm the  family." 

The  popular  feeling  was  far  stronger  against  the  Queen 
than  the  King. 

"  See,"  she  said,  one  day,  before  Dumouriez  and  the 
King,  and  pointing  through  a  window  near  her  ;  "  a  prison- 
er in  this  palace,  I  dare  not  venture  to  present  myself  at  a 
window  that  overlooks  the  garden.  But  yesterday  I  wished 
to  breathe  the  air,  and  went  to  the  window.  An  artillery- 
man used  the  language  of  a  guard-room,  and  hurled  his 
words  at  me;  held  up  his  sword,  and  said  he  should  like  to 
see  my  head  on  it.  I  have  seen  them  murdering  a  priest, 
and  meanwhile,  not  ten  yards  away,  children  and  their 
nurses  are  playing  at  ball.  What  a  country,  and  what 
people  !  " 

That  the  Queen  incessantly  conspired  to  induce  a  foreign 
army  to  march  into  France,  is  very  certain. 

The  King  soon  mistrusted  Dumouriez,  who  at  once  offer- 
ered  to  resign  his  position  of  Minister.  The  King  at  once 
accepted,  and  another  friend  was  lost  by  royalty. 

On  taking  his  leave,  Dumouriez  foretold  what  was  to 
happen. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  269 

"Sire,"  said  lie,  "you  think  you  are  alwut  to  save  reli- 
gion. You  are  destroying  it.  The  priesthood  will  be 
killed;  your  crown  will  be  taken  from  you;  perhaps  even 
the  Queen  and  the  royal  children " 

Dumouriez  could  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"I  await — I  expect  death!"  said  the  King,  much 
moved.;   "and  I  pardon  my  enemies/' 

He  turned  away,  with  quivering  lips. 

Dumouriez  never  saw  Louis  XVJ  again. 

He  fled  from  Paris,  and  especially  from  La  Belle  Liegoise, 
who,  in  her  blood-colored  dress,  was  now  rising  to  utter 
power. 

"  Build  the  new  parliament,"  she-  cried,  "on  the  site  of 
the  Bastille  ;  and  let  every  woman  give  her  jewels,  that 
the  gold  ma}*  be  coined  to  pay  for  the  work." 

And  taking  the  golden  earrings  from  her  ears,  the  rings 
from  her  fingers,  she  cast  them  before  her  hearers. 

Her  power  was  so  great,  that  during  even*  sudden  out- 
break her  '■  nod"  condemned  any  man  brought  before  her, 
to  death  ;  her  "  Let  him  go,"  set  him  at  liberty. 

She  was  mad  for  years  before  she  was  placed  in  the  asy- 
lum where  she  ended  her  days,  twenty  years  after  the  death 
of  the  King  and  Queen.  Not  a  Frenchwoman,  but  born 
at  Liege,  she  had  been  brought  up  respectably  ;  she  was 
even  accomplished ;  but  at  seventeen  she  had  fallen  a 
victim  to  the  snares  of  a  young  French  nobleman. 

Thus  fallen,  she  threw  herself  into  all  shapes  of  de- 
bauchery ;  and  when  the  Revolution  broke  out,  she  came 
to  France,  to  hunt  down  and  destroy  the  man  who  had 
destroyed  her. 

This  she  did  in  the  raging  time  to  come,  of  which  I  have 
to  tell,  and  she  showed  him  no  mercy. 

Neither  found  she  any  mercy  for  herself.  The  furies  of 
the  Revolution — the  tricoteuses — seized  her,  stripped  her  to 
the  skin,  and  whipped  her  in  public,  as  an  obscene  prosti- 
tute. This  act  brought  into  active  force  the  latent  mad- 
ness from  which  she  had  been  suffering  for  some  time.  She 
was  removed  to  a  madhouse,  and  there  she  dragged  through 
twenty  years  of  life.  In  fierce  memory  of  the  indignity 
which  had  been  put  upon  her,  she  would  never  put  on  any 
clothing;  and  so  she  lived,  clutching  the  bars  of  her  den, 
screaming,  alternately,  "  Blood !  "  and  "  Liberty  !  " 


270  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

It  took  twenty  years  to  enfeeble  her  constitution,  and  to 
wear  her  life  away  into  the  peacefulness  of  death. 

She  was  the  greatest  enemy  the  Queen  had.  She  de- 
clared Marie  Antoinette  as  frail  as  herself;  for  this  demon 
in  woman's  shape  insanely  gloried  in  her  condition.  And 
when  she  gloried  in  this  statement  against  the  "  Austrian  " 
— the  most  opprobrious  name  the  people  could  find  to  cast 
at  the  Queen — her  hearers  applauded  loudly. 

So  the  months  drifted  on,  the  events  of  every  day  dark- 
ening the  fortunes  of  the  royal  family. 

And  now  came  the  time  when  the  palace  was  besieged. 
The  King,  looking  from  his  window,  saw  the  meeting  of  a 
huge  crowd  without  any  alarm  :  lie  was,  by  this  time, 
accustomed  to  sudden  crowds. 

Again  a  soldier  had  led  the  way  for  the  mob.  An  artil- 
lery officer,  instead  of  obeying  orders,  and  retiring  his  guns 
to  defend  the  palace,  pointed  to  its  windows,  and  cried, 
"  The  enemy  is  there  !  " 

Two  minutes  after,  the  people  had  got  possession  of  the 
Tuileries. 

The  king — who,  whatever  his  faults,  was  no  coward — 
rushed  forward  towards  the  massive  folding-doors,  which 
the  populace  finding  bolted,  were  breaking  open. 

As  he  approached,  the  panels  fell  at  his  feet.  He  order- 
ed a  couple  of  valets  to  open  these  folding-doors. 

"What  have  I  to  fear,"  he  said,  "  from  my  people  ?" 

A  ragged  man  rushed  forward,  and  thrust  a  stick,  point- 
ed with  iron,  at  the  King.  A  grenadier  of  the  guard 
struck  it  down  with  his  bayonet.  And  now  the  man  fell, 
whether  in  a  fit  or  not  will  always  remain  a  question.  Cer- 
tainly, as  he  rushed  forward,  he  was  foaming  at  the  mouth. 
All  that  is  known  farther  of  him  is  this — that  the  mass 
pressing  forward,  he  was  trampled  to  death. 

For  a  moment,  the  power  of  majesty  was  once  more 
asserted. 

He  had  left  the  Queen,  the  royal  children,  and  his  noble 
sister,  Madame  Elizabeth,  in  an  inner  room,  and  had 
ordered  the  door  to  be  closed  after  him.  This  had  been 
done. 

The  king  now  moved  to  another  room,  larger,  pretending 
that  there  he  could  speak  to  a  greater  number  of  citizens. 
Suddenly,  hearing  a  scuffle,  the  King  turned,  to  find  the 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  271 

mob  surrounding  Madame  Elizabeth,  wlio  was  endeavoring 
to  reach  the  King's  side. 

"  It  is  the  Queen  !  "  screamed  several  fierce  voices.  And 
they  were  the  voices  of  women. 

In  a  moment,  they  turned  upon  her. 

The  abhorred  Queen  was  before  them,  as  they  thought. 
In  another  moment  she  would  have  been  killed. 

"  It  is  Madame  Elizabeth  ! ''  cried  the  soldiers. 

The  mob  fell  back  with  reverence.  Even  at  that  point 
they  could  respect  Elizabeth,  the  purity  and  simplicity  of 
whose  life  formed  the  one  favorable  point  in  the  united 
lives  of  the  royal  family,  and  one  to  which  the  whole  mass 
of  the  people  gave  implicit  credence. 

But  she  was  to  die  with  her  family. 

"  Ah  !  what  have  you  done  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Had  they 
been  allowed  to  take  me  for  the  Queen,  and  have  killed  me, 
I  had  perhaps  saved  the  Queen's  life  !" 

By  this  time,  about  twenty  of  the  King's  friends  stood 
about  him,  their  swords  drawn. 

"Put  up  3'our  swords,"  said  the  King;  "this  multi- 
tude 's  more  excited  than  guilty." 

"  Where  is  the  Austrian  ?  "  now  resounded  upon  all 
sides. 

The  question  which  excited  the  multitude  was  against 
the  priesthood,  whose  members,  known  to  favor  royalty, 
were  abhorred  by  the  people.  The  king  had  refused  to  sign 
an  act  by  virtue  of  which  the  priesthood  would  have  been 
annihilated. 

A  butcher,  named  Legendre,  cried  to  the  King,  "  The 
people  are  weary  of  being  your  plaything  and  your  vic- 
tim ! " 

Meanwhile,  those  who  could  not  gain  an  entrance  to  the 
besieged  palace  called  loudly  to  those  within,  "  Are  they 
dead?     Show  us,  then,  their  heads!" 

"  Let  him  put  it  on  ! "  cried  the  butcher,  thrusting  a 
coarse  red  cap  of  liberty  towards  the  King  on  the  end  of 
a  pike. 

The  King  smiled,  and  put  the  symbol  of  liberty  upon 
his  head. 

"  Long  live  the  King  !  "  now  cried  some  voices. 

The  people  now  called  upon  the  King  to  restore  Roland 
— Madame  Roland's  husband — to  power,  from  which  he 
had  been  'bi-smissed. 


272  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

The  King  was  inflexible. 

"  This  is  not  the  moment  for  deliberation,"  said  the 
King. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid!  "  whispered  a  grenadier  to  Louis. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  King,  "  does  my  heart  beat  rap- 
idly ?  " 

And  he  placed  the  man's  left  hand  upon  his  breast. 

The  pulsation  of  the  King's  heart  was  perfectly  equable. 

"  If  you  love  the  people,  drink  their  health ! "  cried  a 
man  in  rags,  pushing  forward  a  common  bottle. 

The  King  smiled  and  took  the  bottle,  saying,  "  To  the 
nation  ! " 

And  now  the  cries  of  "Long  live  the  King!"  were  so 
strong  that  they  floated  out  upon  the  crowd  waiting  to  see 
the  King's  body  cast  amongst  them  ;  and,  instead,  they 
learnt  that  once  more  the  King  had — if  only  for  a  time — 
reconciled  himself  to  his  people. 

Meanwhile  the  Queen  was  undergoing  her  agony. 

O11I3'  the  conviction  that  she  was  more  immeasurable 
hated  than  the  King,  prevented  her  from  joining  him  before 
the  people.  She  feared  her  presence  might  exasperate  the 
people  be3Tond  all  control. 

She  remained  in  her  bedroom,  pressing  her  two  children 
to  her  heart. 

Suddenly,  a  beating  at  the  door,  and  the  screams  of  many 
fierce  women,  upon  hearing  the  words,  "  The  Austrian  is 
there !  " 

But  they  had  to  call  masculine  help  before  they  forced 
the  door. 

They  found  the  Queen  unprotected,  except  by  her  chil- 
dren, whose  presence  probably  saved  their  mother  from 
assassination. 

Only  a  few  ladies  were  with  her,  one  of  whom  was  that 
unhappy  Princess  de  Larnballe,  who  would  not  remain  in 
England,  who  returned  to  France,  and  who  was  one  of  the 
first  to  fall  a  victim  to  the  Reign  of  Terror. 

The  Queen  was  found  by  the  screaming  crowd  of  women 
standing  as  I  have  described,  in  a  bay  window,  while  be- 
tween her  and  the  mob,  a  long,  heavy  table  had  been  placed 
across  the  window. 

By  the  Queen  stood  her  daughter — near  fourteen  years 
of  age. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  273 

The  Dauphin — then  seven  years  of  age,  arid  extremely 
handsome — was  placed  upon  the  table  before  her. 

The  men  in  the  crowd  were  for  the  greater  part  silent; 
the  women  were  implacable  :  one  of  these  thrust  forward  a 
republican  red  cap,  and  told  the  Austrian  to  put  it  on  Lou- 
is's  ln-ad.      This  .die  did. 

The  child  took  it  for  a  plaything,  and  smiled. 

And  now  a  pretty,  rosy,  youthful  girl  came  forward,  and 
using  the  coarsest  possible  language,  upbraided  the  Queen 
savagely. 

"  Pray  what  harm  have  I  done  you  ?  " 

"  Me  '.'- — perhaps  not.  But  what  harm  have  you  not  done 
the  nation  Y  " 

"Poor  child!"  the  Queen  replied.  "You  but  repeat 
what  you  have  been  told.  Why  should  I  make  the  people 
miserable  ?  Though  not  born  a  Frenchwoman,  my  children 
are  French,  and  1  shall  never  see  my  native  land  again. 
1  was  happy  when  you  loved  me  !  " 

The  girl's  head  fell. 

"  I  diil  not  know  you,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  see  now  that 
you  are  good  !  " 

And  now  Santerre — good  name  for  a  leader  of  the  peo- 
ple— approached, 

"Take  the  cap  off  the  child!"  he  cried;  "don't  you  see 
that  he  is  stifling?" 

The  crowd  was  tremendous. 

And  approaching  the  Queen  he  whispered,  "You  have 
some  awkward  friends  here.  I  know  of  some  who  would 
serve  you  better." 

This  was  the  first  intimation  the  Queen  really  had  that 
there  was  a  party  amongst  the  people  actually  willing  to 
raise  the  royal  family  they  had  so  utterly  degraded. 

Five  hours  that  torture  lasted  before  the  palace  was  clear- 
ed. The  King  and  Queen  had  also  been  forced  to  put  the 
national  cockades  upon  their  heads.  When  once  more  the 
royal  house  was  free,  the  unhappy  people  could  scarcely  find 
strength  with  which  to  embrace. 

Several  of  the  members  of  the  Kational  Assembly  wept. 

To  one,  Merlin,  the  Queen  said,   "  You  weep,  sir." 

"  Yes,  madame,"  he  replied,  gravely  ;     "  I  weep  over  the 
misfortunes  of  the  woman,  the  wife,  and  the  mother  ;  but, 
beyond  this,  my  heart  is  stone.     I  hate  kings  and  queens." 
17 


274  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

These  words  were  the  key-stone  to  French  feeling.  Lou- 
is XVI  and  his  wife  were  driven  to  the  block,  not  as  a  man 
and  a  wife,  as  father  and  mother — but  as  King  and  Queen. 


«  »»■»—>- 


CHAPTER  XLLX. 

THE    KING    QUITS    THE    TUILERIES.' 

The  National  Assembly  had  ordered  the  provinces  to 
send  20,000  troops  to  Paris.  With  them  they  brought  the 
revolutionary  hymn,  the  "  Marseillaise."  It  was  written 
and  composed  by  a  young  artillery-officer,  named  De  Lisle. 
It  was  completed  at  the  piano,  after  a  night's  bout.  He 
fell  asleep  over  the  instrument,  and  at  length  awakening, 
gradually  recalled  the  air  and  words  of  a  song,  the  fierceness 
of  which  sent  more  French  men  and  women  to  the  block 
than  did  any  other  motive. 

That  song  drove  revolutionary  France  mad,  and  took 
from  the  royal  family  all  hope  of  mercy. 

The  royal  family,  however,  were  still  at  the  Palace  of  the 
Tuileries  ;  aud  while  they  remained  there,  the  semblance 
of  royalty  was  kept  up — albeit,  in  fact,  they  were  utterly 
prisoners. 

The  Queen,  early  in  August,  still  utterly  relied  upon 
Lafayette,  who  did  not  disguise  his  desire  to  retain  the 
monarchy,  under  a  protectorate — he  himself  to  be  the 
Protector. 

"  Mistrust  Lafayette,"  had  said  Mirabeau ;  but  the 
Queen's  faith  was  strong,  and  her  confidence  hastened 
events. 

However,  one  Gaudet,  only  twenty  years  of  age,  was 
rising  to  power  amongst  the  Girondists  ;  and  he  having  in- 
timated that  he  felt  great  interest  in  the  royal  family, 
matters  were  so  managed  that  he  had  an  interview  with 
Marie  Antoinette,  who,  poor  lady,  took  him  by  the  hand, 
and  led  him  to  the  little  cot  in  which  her  child  was  sleep- 
ing. 

"  Educate  him  to  libert}',  madame,"  said  the  orator.  "  It 
is  the  one  condition  of  his  life." 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  275 

He  kissed  the  child.  Nine  months  afterwards  he  was 
one  of  those  who  sent  the  King  and  Queen  to  the  scaffold. 

The  royal  family  were  now  prohibited  from  shutting  a 
door,  and  so  much  did  the}'  dread  poison,  that  they  i 
pretended  to  eat  of  the  dishes  prepared  and  set  before  them, 
and  really  subsisted  upon  cakes,  and  other  food  brought  to 
them  in  the  pockets  of  their  attendants,  who  purchased  the 
eatables  at  obscure  shops. 

The  Queen  made  the  King  wear  as  a  breastplate  fifteen- 
fold  silk  ;  but  while  the  poor  man  complied,  he  said,  "  They 
will  not  assassinate  me,  but  put  me  to  death  like  a  King,  in 
open  daylight." 

He  never  appears  to  have  thought  of  the  possible  execu- 
tion of  the  Queen  herself. 

"  He  is  no  coward,"  she  said  of  the  King  ;  "  but  he  is 
calm  in  the  presence  of  danger.  His  courage  is  in  his 
heart,  only  it  does  not  show  itself — he  is  so  timid." 

The  family  now  only  showed  themselves  when  going  to 
church  on  Sunday,  and  then  they  were  assailed  with  cries 
of  "  No  King!  "  Louis  said  it  was  as  though  God  himself 
had  turned  against  him. 

One  night,  a  chamber-valet,  who  slept  at  the  Queen's 
door,  was  awakened,  to  find  an  assassin,  dagger  in  hand, 
stealing  into  the  Queen's  room. 

Murders  now  became  quite  common.  One  D'Epremesnil, 
who  had  been  a  great  favorite  with  the  people,  showed 
signs  of  moderation.  Suddenly  turned  upon  by  the  mob, 
he  was  cut  down,  dragged  through  the  gutters,  and  was 
about  to  be  thrown  into  a  common  sewer,  when  he  was 
rescued  b}'  a  squad  of  the  National  Guard.  As  he  lay 
dying,  Petion,  the  Mayor  of  Paris,  looked  upon  him,  and 
fainted.  Recovering  his  senses,  the  victim  said  to  the 
Mayor,  "  And  1 — I,  too,  was  once  the  idol  of  the  people  ! 
May  3'ou  meet  with  a  better  fate  ! " 

The  sound  of  the  soul-stirring  "Marseillaise"  had  mad- 
dened Paris.  The  hourly  news  of  the  march  of  the  Prus- 
sians upon  France  fatally  intensified  that  hatred  of  all  who 
were  favorable  to  royalty — a  hatred  which  was  now  about 
utterly  to  burst  all  bounds. 

An  almost  complete  insurrection  was  adjourned  to 
August  10. 

It  was  said  by  the  people  that  Marie  Antoinette  daily 


276  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

cursed  the  people  ;  that  she  had  offered  a  pistol  to  the  King, 
and  prayed  him  to  destroy  himself:  that  she  had  vowed, 
sooner  than  leave  the  royal  palace,  she  would  be  nailed  to 
its  walls. 

In  truth,  she  was  battling  with  her  natural  royalty — 
defending  the  unemotional  King,  and  endeavoring  to  take 
his  place  without  intruding  on  his  prerogative. 

Meanwhile,  the  principal  movers  in  the  drama  were 
being  thinned  by  murder.  Mandat,  the  commandant 
general,  suspected  of  treachery  rather  than  of  duty,  was 
shot  down  before  his  son's  eyes,  and  his  body  was  cast  into 
the  Seine. 

On  the  morning  of  that  terrible  10th  of  August,  Madame 
Elizabeth,  the  King's  sister,  who  had  been  watching 
through  the  night,  listening  to  the  ringing  of  that  bell 
which  all  the  Royalists  knew  was  the  tocsin  of  murder, — 
this  pure-hearted  Elizabeth  called  to  the  Queen. 

"  Sister,"  she  said,  "  come  and  see  the  sun  rise." 

And  Marie  Antoinette  looked  for  the  last  time  upon  a 
sunrise  (it  was  typically  blood-red)  which  she  was  to  see 
through  the  palace  windows. 

To  Rcederer,  the  deputy,  was  due  the  first  suggestion  of 
that  act  which  was  really  the  King's  abdication — that  of 
abandoning  the  royal  palace,  and  asking  hospitality  of  the 
Parliament. 

"Place  yourselves,  madame,"  he  said,  "  in  the  care  of 
the  National  Assembly.  Your  persons  will  then  be  as 
sacred  as  the  constitution." 

The  constitution  itself  was  to  be  a  thing  of  the  past  in 
a  few  weeks. 

At  five  in  the  morning,  the  Queen  had  her  children 
dressed  and  brought  to  her.  The  King  himself,  by  his  ap- 
pearance, should  have  steeped  the  guard  in  confidence.  He 
should  have  appeared  in  uniform.  On  the  contrary,  he 
appeared  in  a  suit  of  violet  silk — court  mourning,  in  fact, 
without  boots  or  spurs,  in  white  silk  stockings  and  pumps; 
while  his  hair  presented  an  absurd  spectacle,  for  it  had  not 
been  dressed  since  the  previous  day  ;  and  while  one  side 
was  still  rounded  and  curled,  the  other  was  flat  and  ragged. 
He  looked  about  smilingly,  but  with  that  vagueness  in 
which  no  reliance  can  be  placed.  He  was  simply  a  good, 
etupid,  amiable  man.     He  kept  apart,  all  his  reign,  making 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  277 

locks;  he   forgot  his  people,  and  he  was  weak  enough  to 
suppose  his  people  would  forget  him. 

As  for  the  Queen  she  was  never  more  royal. 

"  Take  these  !  "  she  said,  seizing  a  couple  of  pistols  and 
forcing  them  into  his  hands;  "and  conquer  or  die  with 
your  friends." 

The  King  however,  handed  them  to  a  gentleman  by  his 
side,  saying,  "No;  if  1  wore  arms,  the  people  might  be 
angry." 

A  royal  progress  was  made  in  the  court-yard  of  the 
Tuileries,  even  in  the  palace-garden  beyond.  At  first  re- 
ceived with  faint  applause,  the  cries  of  hate  soon  over- 
whelmed the  King,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  he  gained  the 
palace  alone. 

The  tocsin  had  now  been  calling  to  arms  through  many 
hours. 

Meanwhile,  Dan  ton,  the  man  of  blood,  was  maddening 
the  people. 

"  To  arms  !  "  he  cried.     "  Do  you  not  hear  the  call  ?  " 

The  infuriated  people  were  now  upon  the  palace. 

They  attempted  once  more  to  burst  the  doors,  while  the 
artillerymen  refused  to  fire  upon  the  insurgents. 

And  now  the  fatal,  but  inevitable,  mistake  was  made. 

"  Sire,"  cried  Eoederer  to  the  King,  "  time  presses.  It 
is  no  longer  entreaty  we  use,  and  only  one  means  is  left  us. 
We  ask  your  permission  to  use  violence  towards  you ;  a7id, 
by  force,  to  place  you  under  the  safety  of  the  National 
Assembly." 

The  King  still  did  not  wish  to  leave  the  palace.  He 
turned  to  the  Queen. 

"  Let  us  go." 

Never  again  did  the  royal  couple  step  beneath  the  roof 
of  that  palace.  They  left  it  for  a  barred  prison — that 
barred  prison  for  the  scaffold. 

The  King  and  the  royal  famiky  were  taken  to  the  Assem- 
bly, and  put  in  the  reporters'  box,  amidst  the  reporters 
themselves. 

There  were  few  members  present  when  the  King  entered 
the  house,  but  it  soon  filled  up.  The  heat  was  intense,  and 
the  King  perspired  frightfully.  This  box  was  supposed  to 
be  not  in  the  Assembly,  because  a  grating  was  placed 
before  it.      As  the  day  went  on,  it  was  feared  the  people 


278  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

might  break  in  from  behind,  and  catch  the  King  in  this 
dungeon.  It  was,  therefore,  ordered  that  the  grating  should 
be  removed ;  and  the  workers  being  unskilful,  the  King's 
knowledge  in  rnetal-work  prevailing,  he  came  forward,  and 
helped  at  its  removal ;  so  that  in  the  event  of  an  attack  by 
the  people,  whose  menaces  could  be  heard,  the  members  of 
parliament  might  shelter  the  royal  family  by  forming  a 
living  rampart  around  them. 

This  agony  lasted  fourteen  hours  ;  but  it  did  not  tell 
upon  the  King's  heavy  nature.  At  his  usual  hour,  he  was 
hungry,  asked  for  food,  and  he  ate  a  hearty  meal  as  calmly 
as  though  he  had  passed  some  hours  at  lock-making.  The 
Queen,  who  suffered  dreadfully  at  the  sight  of  this  evidence 
of  callousness  on  the  part  of  the  King,  ate  nothing,  but 
drank  a  glass  or  two  of  iced  water  with  much  eagerness. 

The  people,  learning  that  the  King  had  left  the  palace, 
turned  upon  this  building  to  destroy  it — not  to  sack  it. 
The  Revolutionists  were  greed}'  for  blood — not  wealth. 
"Death  to  thieves!"  was  their  implacable  motto.  The 
Tuileries  were  chiefly  defended  by  seven  hundred  Swiss, 
two  hundred  badly-armed  gentlemen,  and  one  hundred 
National  Guard.  At  the  end  of  the  day,  not  one-tenth  of 
them  remained  alive. 

The  palace  was  forced.  There  stood  a  Swiss  on  guard, 
many  files  of  comrades  behind  him.  He  had  orders  not  to 
fire.  The  people  hooked  his  belt  with  a  pike,  dragged  him 
forward,  and  disarmed  him.  Another  took  his  place  ;  he, 
also,  was  disarmed.     Five  times  was  this  episode  repeated. 

A  shot  was  fired — some  say,  by  a  Swiss ;  others,  by  an 
insurgent ;  and  this  appears  to  have  beeen  the  signal. 

The  people  turned  upon  the  five  disarmed  Swiss,  and 
beat  them  to  death.  One  man  of  huge  stature  and  strength 
killed  four.  The  Swiss  were  now  ordered  to  fire.  Many 
aimed  at  the  huge  man,  and  he  fell  with  many  more.  In 
a  moment,  the  hall  was  strewn  with  the  dead  and  the 
dying.  From  that  moment,  the  Swiss  were  doomed ; 
though,  for  a  short  time,  they  were  victorious ;  for  the 
people  were  driven  back. 

Meanwhile,  the  rattle  of  the  musketry  echoed  through 
the  building  in  which  the  National  Assembly  were  delibera- 
ting; and  its  cause  soon  became  known. 

"  Long    live    the  nation  ! "  cried    the  parliamenterians, 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  279 

glaring  at  the  King,  who,  unhappy  man,  now  helped  on 
the  massacre  of  his  Swiss  guards  by  sending  a  written 
order  to  their  commander  to  cease  tiring,  whatever  happened. 
This  was  really  their  death-warrant ;  for  fidelity  keeping 
them  near  the  King's  person,  fidelity  would  compel  them 
to  obey  his  last  command — for  this  order  was  the  last  Louis 
XVI  ever  gave. 

Suddenly,  shots  sounded  close  at  hand.  The  members 
thought  it  was  the  Swiss  guard,  about  to  fire  upon  and 
massacre  the  National  Assembly.  In  truth,  it  was  the 
National  Guard  firing  upon  that  division  of  the  Swiss 
which  had  accompanied  the  King  to  the  National  Assem- 
bly. 

"  Now,"  cried  the  President,  "  is  the  time  to  prove  our- 
selves worthy  of  the  people,  and  of  the  position  they  have 
given  us,  by  dying  at  our  posts." 

It  was  a  false  alarm  ;  it  was  royalty  dying. 

The  people  now  rallied,  broke  into  the  palace,  and,  mad- 
dened by  the  sight  of  the  dead  citizens  in  the  great  hall, 
charged  the  Swiss,  who  were  serried  on  the  grand  staircase. 

Upon  those  stairs  they  were  driven,  leaving  comrades 
upon  every  step.  The  incline  afforded  good  shooting  to 
the  people,  who,  when  they  had  forced  their  way  to  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  had  slain  every  soldier  who  had  faced 
them.     The  Swiss  guard  died  bravely  to  the  very  last  man. 

After  that  it  was  massacre,  not  fighting.  Wherever  a 
Swiss  was  found  on  guard  throughout  the  palace,  he  was 
hacked  to  pieces.  Many  were  thrown  alive  from  the  win- 
dows to  the  people  below.  Some  few  of  these  solitary 
Swiss  sentinels  showed  fight ;  many  threw  down  their  arms, 
and  either  faced  death  unarmed,  or  uselessly  asked  for 
mercy. 

Seventeen  were  found  kneeling  in  the  palace  chapel.  In 
vain  did  they  show  their  fire-arms,  which,  clear  and  bright, 
proved  they  had  not  fired  upon  the  people.  They  were 
foreigners;  the  news  came  hourly  that  all  Europe  was 
about  to  pour  upon  France,  and  they  were  killed  before  the 
very  altar. 

Ic  is  said  the  people  had,  to  stimulate  their  bloodthirsti- 
ness,  dissolved  gunpowder  in  the  wine  and  brandy  they 
drank. 

Not  a  Swiss  escaped. 


280  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

The  Queen's  women  remained  trembling  in  the  palace. 

One  man  alone  defended  their  door,  and  fell — generous 
sentinel  ! 

Dan  ton  was  the  very  king  of  the  massacre;  and  publicly 
he  thanked  the  people  for  their  day's  work. 

Meanwhile,  calm,  patient,  implacable,  Robespierre — he 
who  was  to  conquer  Danton — waited  quietly  abiding  his 
time,  but  always  feeling  his  way. 

The  Assembly  soon  learnt  the  true  state  of  affairs  ;  and, 
by  their  orders,  a  few  Swiss  were  saved,  by  being  hidden 
in  the  passages  and  cellars  of  the  House  of  Assembly. 

And  now,  the  Revolutionists,  eager  for  blood,  but  not  for 
riches,  brought  before  the  National  Assembly  the  spoils  of 
the  Tuileries.  Sacks  upon  sacks  of  gold,  plate,  precious 
stones,  costly  ornaments,  and  even  heaps  of  letters — even 
the  money  found  upon  the  dead  Swiss  was  set  out  in  a  sep- 
arate pile. 

The  Girondists  now  felt  that  the  time  was  come  to  aban- 
don the  throne.  Vergniaud  drew  up  an  act  for  the  provis- 
ional suspension  of  royalty.     This  was  at  once  passed. 

The  King's  fall  was  signed.  A  few  hours  before,  he 
abandoned  his  palace.  Now,  by  this  Act,  the  King's  au- 
thority was  revoked  ;  payment  of  money  to  royalty  was 
stopped  ;  and  the  National  Assembly  declared  to  hold  pos- 
session of  the  persons  of  the  royal  family  until  happier 
times  arrived. 

This  was  virtually  dethroning  the  King,  and  taking  him 
prisoner. 
And  how  did  the  King  accept  this  news  ? 

He  smiled,  and  said  jocosely,  "  This  is  not  too  constitu- 
tional ! " 

He  was  the  onty  human  being  that  smiled  in  that  place 
upon  that  fatal  day — he  whose  heart  should  have  felt  the 
heaviest  weight  of  grief. 

But  the  people  around  the  building  shouted  for  the  King's 
life. 

The  people,  however,  must  not  be  looked  upon  harshly. 
They  had  not  stolen  ;  and  though  many  hundreds  had  been 
slain  by  them,  they  had  lost  three  thousand  six  hundred 
men.     The  Swiss  did  not  die  unavenged. 

Then  the  people  went  back  to  their  work,  tired  of  blood- 
shed, for  a  few  days 


LOVE     AND    LIBERTY.  281 

And  the    royal  family  were  taken  to  the  prison  of  the 
Temple,  which  three  of  them  quitted  only  for  the  scaffold. 


CHAPTER    L. 

THE   MASSACRES    OF    SEPTEMBER. 

The  wretched  Queen's  head  and  eyelids  drooped  for  a 
moment  as  she  heard  the  words  which  dethroned  her  hus- 
band ;  then,  once  again,  her  head  was  high  and  defiant. 
Together  with  the  misfortune  of  the  Austrian  Hapsburg, 
she  inherited  their  pride  and  courage.  From  that  hour  to 
the  moment  of  her  death,  her  courage  never  failed  her.  She 
appears  to  have  equally  forgiven  and  despised. 

Events  now  followed  with  terrible  rapidity.  The  Prus- 
sians entered  France  and  the  town  of  Verdun  fell  into  their 
power.  That  humiliation  brought  about  the  massacres  of 
September.  The  town  council  purposed  their  capitulation. 
Then  Colonel  Beaupaire,  the  commandant,  opposed  it ;  and 
refusing  to  sign  the  capitulation,  he  blew  out  his  brains  at 
the  council.  His  body  was  removed,  the  capitulation  sign- 
ed, the  Prussians  marched  in,  and  the  daughters  of  the 
principal  inhabitants,  strewed  flowers  before  the  foreign 
troops. 

AH  of  those  girls — to  be  excused,  by  reason  of  their 
youth — were,  during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  sent  to  the  guil- 
lotine. 

Beaupaire's  body  was  carried  away  b}T  his  men,  who 
marched  out  of  Verdun  with  all  the  honors  of  war,  and  to 
it  was  accorded  a  state  funeral,  while  the  heart  was  placed 
in  the  Pantheon. 

Every  day,  Danton  was  rising  into  power. 

Every  day,  Robespierre  was  following  him,  and  marking 
him  down  with  the  vigor  of  a  sleuth  hound. 

It  was  he  who  organised  the  September  massacres.  On 
the  28th  of  August,  a  grave-digger,  who  knew  the  plan  of 
certain  catacombs,  was  awakened  at  six  in  the  morning  by 
a  Government  agent,  and  told  to  prepare  this  place,  within 
ten  days,  for  receiving  a  large  number  of  bodies.  He  was 
ordered  to  be  silent,  on  pain  of  death. 


282  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

On  this  same  day,  organised  hands  of  fierce-looking  men, 
springing  no  one  knew  whence,  patrolled  the  streets.  The 
gates  of  Paris  were  closed,  so  that  no  one  could  escape, 
though  thousands  had  tied  between  the  day  of  the  King's 
first  fall  and  this  one,  the  28th  of  August. 

Every  house  was  visited.  Five  thousand  persons,  suspect- 
ed of  leaning  towards  royalty,  were  seized  during  the  follow- 
ing night.  Every  court-house,  convent,  prison,  was  over- 
flowing with  prisoners. 

Robespierre  still  remained  quiet  and  watchful — still  lived 
in  hiding  in  the  house  of  good  Duplay,  the  joiner. 

On  that  night,  Robespierre  went  to  the  apartments  of  St. 
Just,  in  the  Rue  St.  Anne,  and  found  him  calmly  going  to 
bed. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  St.  Just.  "  Murder  will  be  done  to- 
night, but  I  cannot  prevent  it.  And  again,  those  who  will 
die  are  our  enemies.     Good  night." 

He  fell  asleep.  Awaking,  hours  after,  he  marked  Robes- 
pierre, pale,  haggard. 

"  Have  you  returned  ?  " 

"  Returned  !  " 

l(  What !  have  you  not  slept  ?  " 

"  Slept !  "  cried  Robespierre  ;  "  when  the  blood  of  thous- 
ands is  being  shed  by  hundreds  of  assassins — when  pure  or 
impure  blood  runs  down  the  streets  like  water  !  Oh,  no," 
he  continued,  with  a  sardonic  smile  ;  "  I  have  not  slept — I 
have  watched,  like  remorse  or  crime  ;  I  have  had  the  weak- 
ness not  to  close  my  eyes.     But  Danton — he  has  slept !  " 

On  Sunday  (of  all  days  in  the  week),  it  being  the  2nd  of 
September,  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  the  signal  for  the 
massacre  was  given,  by  one  of  those  strange  accidents  with 
which  we  are  all  acquainted.'  Five  coaches,  filled  with  pris- 
oners, were  passing.  These  prisoners  happened,  by  chance, 
to  be  all  priests. 

u  See  the  friends  of  the  Prussians !  "  cried  one  in  the 
crowd.  It  was  enough.  The  rage  of  knowing  that  the 
Prussians  had  conquered  Verdun  made  them  mad  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

From  that  hour  until  four  days  were  passed,  murder  was 
unceasing  all  over  Paris.  It  was  enough  to  look  like  a 
Royalist,  and  death  followed. 

Half  the  priests  were  killed  in  the  carriages,  before 
they  reached  the  prison  gates. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  283 

Inside  those  gates,  as  inside  the  gates  of  all  the  other 
ordinary  or  improvised  prisons,  sat  the  revolutionary  tri- 
bunes, twelve  fierce  men,  who  decided  rapidly  the  fate  of  the 
prisoner,  while  they  drank  and  smoked. 

They  were  chiefly  in  shirt-sleeves.  However,  here  and 
there  might  be  seen  white-handed  men,  who  evidently  were 
the  master  spirits  of  those  terrible  juries,  which,  in  their 
wa}r,  were  merciful,  for  they  did  not  condemn  a  prisoner  to 
death.  If  acquitted,  the  decree  was  "  Set  this  gentleman 
at  liberty  ;  "  if  guilty,  "To  tin;  Force," — a  decree  which 
was  a  pun,  for  there  was  a  prison  called  La  Force,  while  the 
word  "  force  "  may  be  said  to  he  "  death  ;  "  therefore,  "  h  la 
force  "  conveyed  to  the  prisoner  the  idea  that  he  was  to  be 
conveyed  to  the  prison  of  La  Force.  In  this  belief,  when 
approaching  the  prison  gate,  he  had  no  idea  death  was  at 
hand.  The  gate  opened,  and  he  was  delivered  to  the  force 
of  an  organised  band,  who  quickly  despatched  him.  Each 
band  of  executioners  was  controlled  by  a  hidden  chief. 
They  moved  from  prison  to  prison  as  the  revolutionary  juries 
sat,  and  they  did  their  work  with  the  steadiness  of  actual 
business. 

The  prison  massacres  began  with  the  Swiss,  at  the 
Abbaye.  They  knew  what  was  coming.  They  were  one 
hundred  and  fifty.  A  young  officer  led  the  way.  He  was 
very  young  and  beautiful,  and  the  murderers  fell  back. 
He  folded  his  arms.  The  bayonets  came  nearer.  He 
rushed  forward,  grasped  five  or  six  of  the  bayonets  in  his 
arms,  and  fell  upon  their  points. 

They  all  died — their   commander,  one    Major  Bedding 
being  the  last.     He  said  he  would  see  his  men  out.     There 
were  not  enough  wagons  to  carry  the  bodies   to  the  cata- 
combs, so  they  were  heaped  up  until  the  return  of  the  tum- 
brils. 

Benches  were  set  for  women  to  see  these  massacres,  and 
they  and  their  children  danced  round  the  dead  bodies. 

At  the  "  Abbey  "  prison  the  prisoners  were  shot  down 
in  the  chapel,  and  while  two  priests,  eighty  and  white- 
haired,  were  preparing  them  for  death. 

Some  anticipated  execution  by  suicide. 

One  Sombreuil,  a  prisoner,  was  condemned  to  death,  and 
he  was  loosed  to  the  mob.  Baj'onets  were  at  his  breast, 
when  his  daughter,  who  was  waiting  in  the  midst  of  the 
murderers,  flung  herself  before  him  and  asked  for  his  life. 


284  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

The  crowd  accorded  it  upon  one  condition — that  she 
should  drink  a  glass  of  blood,  then  flowing  from  one  of  the 
dying. 

This  she  did,  and  saved  him. 

Another  father  and  daughter,  the  Cazottes,  left  the 
prison  together — he  condemned,  she  free.  But  the  daugh- 
ter cried  that  she  would  die  with  him.  So  they  spared  both 
lives.  So  far,  the  national  madness  had  not  destroyed  pity 
for  women. 

The  King's  first  gentleman,  one  Thierri,  being  pierced 
by  a  pike,  cried,  "  God  save  the  King !"  and  died,  waving 
his  hat  as  he  was  transfixed  to  the  woodwork  to  which  he 
clung. 

A  deputy  of  the  National  Assembly  came  to  one  of  the 
prisons,  to  claim  two  prisoners;  whom  obtaining,  as  he 
passed  from  the  prison,  the  murderers,  eating  as  they  sat 
on  the  bodies  of  their  victims,  asked  him,  "  Are  you  tired 
of  life  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  see  the  heart  of  an  aristocrat !  " 

The  speaker  tore  the  heart  from  the  gaping  breast  of  the 
dead  man  upon  which  he  was  coolly  seated. 

Yet  these  murderers  refused  all  recompense.  The  first 
bands  were  men  of  comparative  education  ;  but,  not  being 
bred  butchers,  they  soon  sickened  at  the  task,  and  left  it  to 
be  continued  by  men  of  more  iron  nerves  than  theirs. 

Blood  had  by  this  time,  drenched  nine  prisons.  From 
one  alone,  the  tumbrils  had  removed  one  hundred  and 
ninet}'  bodies. 

Sixty  assassins;  this  was  the  number  to  be  seen  at  each 
prison  door,  waiting  for  the  blood  of  the  aristocrats. 

Meanwhile,  one  hundred  and  sixty  heads  fell  upon  the 
scaffold,  some  being  those  of  women.  The  poor  Princess 
de  Lamballe,  the  Queen's  devoted  friend,  was  not  one.  of 
those  saved.  She  had  followed  the  royal  family  to  the 
Temple  prison,  but  she  was  torn  from  them  after  a  few 
days.  She  was  a  very  37oung  widow,  passionately  loved  by 
her  father-in-law,  who  lived  far  away  in  the  country.  He 
forwarded  12,000Z.  to  save  her  life,  if  possible.  It  was  her 
want  of  courage,  or,  perhaps,  ability  to  dissemble,  which 
cost  this  poor  lady  her  life.  On  September  3rd,  she  ap- 
peared before  the  tribunal.     She  had  passed  two  days  con- 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  285 

ti Dually  fainting;  and  when  ordered,  with  feigned  brutality, 
by  two  National  Guards  to  follow  them,  she  asked  permis- 
sion to  die  where  she  was.  One  of  them  leant  down,  and 
whispered,  "  It  is  to  save  you." 

Upon  coming  lief  ire  the  tribunal,  the  sight  of  the  blood 
all  about  deprived  her  of  consciousness.  It  was  long  before 
she  comprehend*  d  what  was  required  of  her. 

••  Swear  the  love  of  liberty  and  equality,  and  hatred  of 
kings!  " 

"  I  swear  the  first,"  she  said,  "but  not  the  second.  It 
is  not  in  my  heart." 

One  of  the  judges  whispered  to  her — "  Swear  every- 
thing, or  yon  are  lost." 

She  remained  silent. 

"  Well — when  you  go  out,  cry  '  Long  live  the  nation  ! ' ' 

She  nodded;  but  upon  being  led  out  by  two  men.  one  of 
them  a  leader  in  the  massacres — one  Grand  Nicholas, — 
upon  sight  of  the  dead  bodies,  she  cried,  "  Good  God  !  how 
horrible  !  " 

Nicholas  put  his  hand  over  her  mouth.  They  had  trav- 
ersed half  the  street  in  safety,  when  a  drunken  barber,  try- 
ing to  strike  off  her  cap  with  his  knife,  wouiided  her  in  the 
forehead.  The  men  about  believed  her  condemned,  and  in 
a  few  moments  she  was  dead,  her  head  cut  off,  and  set 
amongst  the  glasses  on  the  counter  of  a  wine-shop,  where 
they  drank  to  her  death.  The  barber  then  set  the  head 
upon  a  pole,  and  carried  it  in  procession  to  the  Temple. 
There  the  crowd  forced  an  entrance,  and  insisted  upon 
shewing  the  head  to  the  ex-Queen. 

The  King  was  called  upon  to  show  himself  to  the  people  ; 
ami  though  an  unknown  friend  endeavored  to  prevent  Louis 
from  seeing  the  head,  the  kind  intention  was  foiled,  and 
the  King  recognised  the  features.  Marie  Antoinette  was 
now  demanded,  and  she  presented  herself  to  the  people; 
but  the  Kin<_j.  active  for  once,  saved  his  wife  from  the  sight 
of  poor  Lamballe's  head.  She  only  learnt  what  had  hap- 
pened in  the  evening. 

Three  days'  murders  !  At  two  other  prisons,  five  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  victims  awaited  burial.  At  the  end 
of  the  three  days,  the  murder  of  women  was  common.  A 
beautiful  girl,  one  of  the  people,  having  wounded  her  lover 
from  jealousy,  and   he   being   a   national  soldier,  she  was 


280  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

burnt  alive,  under  circumstances  of  peculiar  atrocity,  sug- 
gested by  the  wretched  woman.  "  La  Belle  Heleise,"  whose 
advancing  madness  was  her  excuse.  Her  own  time,  when 
she  was  to  be  lashed  by  her  own  sex,  was  fast  approaching. 

A  negro — a  huge  giant — was  especially  famous  during 
these  three  days.  He,  it  is  said,  killed  over  two  hundred. 
He  gave  himself  no  rest ;  stopped  only  to  drink  wine, 
and,  naked  to  the  waist,  was  a  fearful  sight,  seen,  as  he 
habitually  was,  with  the  fair  head  of  a  slain  woman  swing- 
ing in  his  left  hand.  At  last,  he  himself  was  slain,  but 
not  for  two  years,  during  which,  where  blood  flowed,  he  was 
ever  to  be  seen.  At  the  end,  he  said  he  had  revenged  him- 
self, not  upon  the  enemies  of  France,  but  upon  the  enemies 
of  his  race — the  whites. 

It  is  said  ten  thousand  fell  in  those  three  days  and 
nights. 

The  murderers  began  at  last  to  turn  upon  one  another. 
Especially  was  this  the  case  with  the  bands  who  adopted 
death  b}r  burning. 

A  weaver — one  Laurent — drew  up  a  list  of  those  it  was 
intended  to  kill,  and  placed  upon  it  the  name  of  a -trades- 
man, who  refused  to  give  him  credit.  The  tradesman, 
having  a  friend  in  a  member  of  the  National  Assembly, 
threw  himself  upon  his  protection.  The  name  was  erased, 
and  Laurent's  written  above  it ;  and  when  Laurent  pointed 
to  the  tradesman  at  the  place  of  execution,  he  was  himself 
seized,  and  cast  into  the  flames. 

Meanwhile,  the  Prussians  on  the  frontier  were  preparing 
to  advance. 

This  threat  of  invasion  gave  the  public  sentiment  an  im- 
petus towards  panic,  which  there  was  no  resisting. 

The  National  Assembly,  which  was  composed,  for  the 
greater  part,  of  men  of  ripe  age,  was  practially  abolished 
by  the  constitution  of  a  "  Convocation,"  in  which  the  ma- 
jority of  the  men  of  power  were  under  thirty,  while 
amongst  them,  several  were  scarcely  more  than  of  age. 

The  King,  once  in  prison,  it  has  been  seen  how  the  fact 
was  followed  by  the  fearful  massacres  of  September  2nd, 
3rd,  and  4th.  Scarcely  were  they  complete,  than  the  men 
in  power  began  to  protest  against  their  enormity,  and  it 
was  endeavored  to  be  shown,  with  some  success,  that  these 
wholesale  murders  were  perpetrated  b}7  a  fierce  organization 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  287 

of  but  comparatively  few  men,  who  cast  tins  great  shame 
upon  France. 

Certainly,  the  same  men  were  at  the  doors  of  the  various 
prisons,  while  the  rongh  order  established  amongst  them, 
far  more  clearly  pointed  to  the  operation  of  a  secret  society, 
than  to  the  sudden  unorganized  rageof  a  maddened  people. 

The  Convention  was  really  divided  into  Girondists  and 
Jacobins — the  former  led  by  Roland  and  Vergniaud,  their 
party  being  distinguished  by  moderation  ;  the  latter,  led  by 
Robespierre  (now  rapidly  becoming  the  leading  man  in  the 
Revolution),  Danton,  and  the  miserable  savage,  Marat, 
who  even  condescended  to  attract  the  approbation  of  the 
lowest  rabble,  by  wearing  rags,  as  clothes,  offensive  from 
very  want  of  cleanliness  —  a  shape  of  vanity  fortunately 
rarely  to  be  found. 

The  life  or  death  of  the  King  was  really  the  question  of 
the  Convention  ;  it  was  the  test  of  Royalty  or  Republican- 
ism, and  no  man  knew  this  better  than  Robespierre.  It 
was  by  the  exercise  of  this  knowledge  that  he  rose  to 
power — to  that  power,  by  the  exercise  of  which  almost  all 
the  men  who  had  formed  a  portion  of  the  National  Assem- 
bly, who  were  members  of  the  Convention  which  super- 
seded the  Assembly,  were  sent  to  the  scaffold  before  he 
himself  mounted  the  fatal  ladder. 

It  was  evident  how  things  lay  when  the  question  of 
lodging  the  President  of  the  Convention  was  mooted.  It 
being  proposed  that  he  should  lodge  in  the  Tuileries,  then 
called  the  National  Palace,  Tallien  cried,  "  Why,  out  of 
this  chamber,  your  President  is  but  a  plain  citizen  ;  there- 
fore, if  he  is  wanted,  let  him  be  sought  for  in  the  garrets 
where,  in  general,  only  truth  and  virtue  are  to  be  found." 

Danton  and  Robespierre  were  now  mortal,  although  con- 
cealed, enemies.  They  knew  that  one  must  destroy  the 
other — which  '.' 

The  theory  of  a  republic  was  now  declared  ;  it  was  the 
first  .-tep  to  the  beheading  of  the  King,  to  whom  I  will  now 
return. 

The  Temple,  to  which  the  royal  family  had  been  taken, 
was  an  old  building,  half  monastery,  half  castle,  which  had 
once  been  one  of  the  strong-holds  of  those  monk-soldiers, 
the  Knights  Templars.  It  was  composed  of  a  couple  of 
towers,  one  seventy  feet  high,  the  other  much  smaller,  and 


288  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

a  large  space  of  ground,  surrounded  bjT  a  comparative!}'  low 
wall.  This  enclosure  contained  many  houses,  and  espec- 
ially a  very  fine  building,  once  the  palace  of  the  Templars 
themselves.  Many  of  the  windows  of  the  surrounding 
houses,  which  formed  part  of  the  lowest  quarter  of  Paris, 
overlooked  these  grounds,  in  which  there  was  an  avenue  of 
chestnut  trees,  and  a  pretty  garden. 

The  towers  had  not  been  used  for  almost  hundreds  of 
years,  and  the  contents  of  their  several  floors  were  of  the 
most  wretched  description.  The  rooms  themselves,  built 
round  a  central  staircase,  were  desolate  in  the  extreme  ; 
while  the  walls  being  nine  feet  deep,  the  windows  loopholes, 
and  even  these  barred,  it  need  not  be  said  that  the  interior 
was  never  wholesomely  light. 

The  royal  prisoners  were  taken  to  the  old  palatial  build- 
ing upon  their  arrival,  and  the  poor  King  at  once  expressed 
a  sense  of  relief  at  the  serenity  his  wife  and  children  now 
enjoj'ed,  compared  with  the  dangers  they  ran  at  the  royal 
palace. 

The  family  supped  together,  and  the  King,  as  usual,  ate 
heartily.  The  municipals  told  off  to  watch  the  prisoners, 
stood  during  the  meal,  but  this  slight  semblance  of  respect 
was  soon  to  disappear. 

Louis  chatted  cheerfully  as  to  what  their  life  should  be 
— how  he  would  be  his  son's  school-master — how  the  garden 
was  large  enough  for  exercise — how  they  should  live,  and 
employ  the  day.  He  even  inspected  the  rooms,  the  beds, 
the  linen ;  in  a  word,  was  once  more  the  man  he  had 
always  been — a  rather  quiet  spirited,  inquisitive,  active, 
dull  man. 

But  this  respite  lasted  only  during  a  few  hours.  The 
King  had  appointed  the  various  bed-rooms,  but  before  the 
Dauphin  could  be  put  to  bed  in  the  one  set  down  as  his,  an 
order  came  from  the  authorities,  ordering  that  the  rcyal 
family  should  be  lodged  in  the  smaller  tower. 

They  waited  until  after  midnight  before  their  new  place 
of  imprisonment  was  ready,  and  then  themselves  carried 
what  was  wanting  to  the  tower.  The  King's  servant  ask- 
ing where  his  master  was  to  be  lodged,  the  municipal  offi- 
cer replied,  (i  Your  master  has  been  living  under  gilded 
roofs  ;  he  will  find  none  here,  and  learn  at  the  same  time 
how  we  lodge  the  murderers  of  the  people." 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  289 

Madame  Elizabeth  was  lodged  in  the  kitchen,  on  the 
ground  floor;  the  .so-called  Court  on  the  second  ;  the  King, 
Queen,  and  children,  on  the  floors  above.  The  walls  and 
the  floors  were  bare,  except  for  some  obscene  pictures  on 
the  walls,  which  the  King  took  down,  turning  them  to  the 
Wall. 

The  King  went  to  bed,  and  fell  asleep.  Xot  so  the 
Queen,  who  remained  awake  the  whole  night. 

The  next  day,  adapting  himself  to  even  these  fallen  cir- 
cumstances, the  King  ordered  the  day's  plans  ;  and  pushing 
ahout  the  room,  came  upon  a  small  collection  of  books, 
chiefly  Latin — a  discovery  which  once  more  brought  a  smile 
of  pleasure  to  his  face. 

Ten  days  afterwards.  20th  August,  and  when  the  royal 
family  had  retired  for  the  night,  the  noise  of  many  advanc- 
ing feet  awakened  them.  The  authorities  of  the  prison 
came  armed  with  orders  from  Parliament,  to  deprive  the 
royal  family  of  every  attendant  who  had  hitherto  followed 
their  fortunes.  The  agony  the  Queen  experienced  upon 
parting  with  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  was  intense. 

••  Prom  this  night,"  cried  Marie  Antoinette,  "  I  do  date 
my  captivity." 

Within  a  fortnight,  as  I  have  related,  the  poor  Princess 
de  Lamballe's  head  was  raised  on  a  pike  to  the  window  of 
the  Queen's  prison.  One  Tison's  wife  was  appointed  to 
look  after  the  Queen  ;  while  Simon,  afterwards  celebrated 
for  his  cruelty  to  the  Dauphin,  and  Roeher.  a  mere  brute, 
were  the  gaolers-in-chief. 

It  was  Rochet  who  never  passed  by  the  Queen  without 
blowing  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke  in  her  Majesty's  face. 

The  walls  of  the  Temple  were  ablaze  with  comments 
upon  the  ro}ral  family.  Here  might  be  read  an  attack  upon 
Louis's  stoutness,  there  a  savage  comment  upon  the  Queen. 
Even  the  children  were  not  spared.  For  instance,  this  sen- 
tence was  scrawled  upon  the  walls :  "  What  are  King's 
children  ?  Whelps  who  ought  to  be  strangled  before  they 
are  old  enough  to  devour  the  people." 

The  unfortunate  captives  at  last  dreaded  to  take  the  air ; 
the  guard  saluted  whenever  a  municipal  passed  by,  but  they 
reversed  arms  as  the  King  went  by. 

At  last,  they  limited  the  number  of  steps  the  royal  fam* 
ilv  might  take  when  exercising. 

18 


290  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

The  upper  windows  of  the  house  overlooking  the  prison 
were  now  the  only  consolation  left  to  the  unhappy  royal 
captives.  But  that  comprehensive  freemasonar}7  of  misery 
with  which  we  are  all  somewhat  acquainted,  the  friends  of 
the  fallen  family,  who  were  still  at  liberty,  took  the  upper 
rooms,  from  which  they  could  see  their  King  and  his  fam- 
ily. The  captives  soon  learnt,  by  almost  indescribable 
signs,  the  windows  which  were  friendly  to  them.  This  one 
would  show  a  white  flower ;  from  another,  a  hand  would  be 
waved  ;  and  now  and  again  a  placard  would  be  raised  for  a 
moment. 

On  the  24th  of  September,  the  King,  having  fallen 
asleep  after  dinner,  wras  aroused  by  a  great  tumult  in  the 
street,  below  his  window. 

It  was  the  people  declaring  the  abolition  of  royalty,  and 
the  declaration  of  a  republic. 

"My  kingdom,"  he  said  to  the  Queen,  "has  passed 
away  like  a  dream,  and  it  has  not  been  a  happy  dream. 
God  gave  it  me,  and  the  people  take  it  away.  1  pray  that 
France  may  be  happy." 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  one  of  his  gaolers 
asked  the  King  brutally,  if  he  knew  that  he  was  living  in 
a  republic. 

"  I  have  heard  it,"  he  replied;  "  and  I  have  prayed  that 
the  republic  may  deal  justly  with  my  country.  I  have 
never  placed  myself  between  the  people  and  their  happi- 
ness." 

So  far,  the  King  had  been  allowed  to  wear  his  sword  and 
his  heraldic  orders. 

"  You  must  know,"  said  his  gaoler,  "that  the  republic 
has  suppressed  these  baubles ;  so  take  them  off.  You  are 
now  but  a  citizen,  as  we  are,  and  must  be  as  we  are ;  yet, 
what  you  want,  ask  the  republic  for,  and  you  shall  not  be 
denied." 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  the  King  calmly.  "  I  want  for  noth- 
ing." 

Very  calm!}',  he  continued  his  interrupted  reading. 

Amongst  the  books  he  read  at  this  time  were  "The  Life 
and  death  of  Charles  I,  of  England,"  and  the  "  Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire." 

The  Convention,  however,  had  not  behaved  illiberally  to 
the    captives.       The    members   assigned   twenty    thousand 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  291 

pounds  to  their  use;  but  very  little  was  really  expended  in 
the  direct  ion  it  was  intended  to  go.  The  royal  family  were 
wretchedly  off  for  clothes.  They  had  borrowed  here  and 
there;  and  the  Queen  herself  employed  many  hours  daily 
in  mending  and  patching  the  clothes  of  the  family,  which 
had  been  much  torn  during  the  day  which  ended  in  the 
imprisonment  of  Louis  and  his  family  in  the  Temple. 

The  English  ambassador,  in  fact,  was  the  chief  donor  of 
the  clothes  which  enabled  the  royal  family  to  be  the  pos- 
sessors of  a  mere  change  of  linen. 

It  is  said  that  the  wretched  gaolers  vied  with  each  other 
in  making  the  fallen  captives  shed  tears.  That  man  who 
succeeded  was  envied  by  his  comrades.  Well  has  it  been 
said  that  the  success  of  a  revolution  which  was  the  result  of 
generations  of  niisgovernment,  had  fallen  heavily  upon  those 
royal  personages  who  had  least  helped  to  produce  the  na- 
tional hate  of  royalty,  while  that  victory  had  of  itself  driven 
the  vanquishing  people  into  madness. 

But  the  last  degradations  had  not  been  put  upon  the 
Bourbons.  Soon  there  came  an  order  from  the  Convention, 
to  the  effect  that  the  King  was  to  be  utterly  separated  from 
his  family. 

The}'  were  now  to  be  debarred  that  last  consolation  of 
the  unfortunate — to  suffer  together. 

The  despair  which  ensued  even  moved  the  wretch,  Boch- 
er.  But  the  order  was  imperative,  and  that  night  the  King 
was  removed  from  the  small  tower,  and  was  imprisoned  in 
the  larger.     He  was  now  quite  alone. 

This  occurred  before  the  termination  of  September;  and, 
as  though  to  make  the  desolation  still  more  complete,  the 
whole  family  were  utterly  deprived  of  the  means  of  writing, 
even  to  each  other.  Not  a  scrap  of  paper  was  allowed — not 
a  pencil — not  even  a  fragment  of  chalk. 

The  great  tower  was  being  repaired.  All  the  accommo- 
dation offered  to  Louis  was  a  bed  and  a  chair,  set  in  heaps 
of  brick  and  plaster  rubbish,  which  overspread  the  floor. 

Boor  man  !  nature  compelled  him  to  be  active ;  and, 
therefore,  being  deprived  of  reading  and  writing  materials, 
he  passed  this  first  excruciating  night  of  his  acutest  misery 
in  counting  the  steps  of  the  sentinel  as  he  passed  up  and 
down  in  the  corridor  outside  the  King's  cell. 

This  night,  the  King,  for  the  first  time,  shed  tears.     His 


292  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

only  companion  was  a  valet,  named  Clery,  who  had  been 
appointed  by  the  municipal  authorities  when  the  King's 
servants  were  removed.  He  was  a  Revolutionist ;  but  his 
heart  was  in  the  right  place. 

The  one  fragment  of  hope  to  which  the  king  clung  on 
this  wretched  night  was  the  suggestion  made  by  this  valet, 
that  as  he  had,  since  his  appointment,  dressed  daily  the 
hair  of  the  ladies  of  the  family,  that  he  should  be  able  to 
carry  messages  between  them  and  the  King. 

Daylight  dispelled  this  hope.  It  was  intimated  that 
Clery  was  not  to  leave  the  tower — that  the  isolation  of  the 
King  from  all  exterior  communication  must  be  complete. 

When  the  man  made  application  to  this  effect,  the 
answer  he  scoffingly  received  was,  "  Your  master  will  never 
see  even  his  children  again." 

" 'Tis  an  outrage  upon  nature!"  urged  the  King,  when 
he  was  visited  by  the  authorities.  "  You  murder  five 
hearts  in  one — you  do  that,  indeed,  which  is  worse  than 
murder  !  " 

The  authorities  turned  their  backs  upon  the  King,  not 
deigning  to  answer  him. 

All  that  was  brought  him  as  food  on  that  first  morning 
of  the  separation  from  his  family,  was  a  piece  of  bread,  and 
a  pot  of  water,  into  which  a  lemon  had  been  squeezed. 

"They  have  forgotten  we  are  two,"  said  the  King,  ad- 
vancing to  Clery,  and  breaking  the  bit  of  bread  in  half; 
"but  I  do  not  forget.  Take  this;  the  remainder  is  enough 
for  me." 

The  servant  refused,  but  the  King  insisted  ;  and  so  the 
valet  took  it,  and  wept  as  he  ate.  The  King  also  wept. 
What  a  picture  to  contemplate! — a  king  and  a  valet  eat- 
ing a  fragment  of  bread  between  them,  and  tears  falling 
upon  the  wretched  meal  ! 

The  King  again  asked  for  news  of  his  family,  and  a  re- 
ply not  forthcoming,  he  entreated  that  he  might  have  some 
books  given  him  to  drive  away  the  hours. 

The  Queen  had  passed  the  night  in  a  series  of  fainting- 
fits ;  but,  even  at  that  pass,  that  far  higher  spirit  than  the 
King's,  which  had  begotten  her  so  much  of  the  popular 
hate,  still  supported  her.  The  King,  though  weeping,  could 
eat  half  the  morsel  of  bread — she  resolutely  refused  to 
touch  food. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

Tins  determination  startled  the  municipals.  They  were 
answerable  to  the  Convention  for  the  prisoners.  What  if 
the  Queen  should  starve  herself  to  death  ? 

"  Well,  they  shall  dine  together  to-day,"  said  a  municipal 
officer;  "and  to-morrow  the  Commune  must  decide." 

The  Queen,  holding  her  children  in  her  arms,  flung  her- 
self upon  her  knees,  and  began  rapidly  praying — so  also  did 
Elizabeth. 

"I  believe,"  said  the  brutal  Simon,  "that  these  con- 
founded  women  are  even  making  me  weep!  Bah!"  he 
added,  turning  to  the  Queen  ;  "you  did  not  let  tears  fall 
when  you  caused  the  people  to  be  assassinated,  on  the  10th 
of  August  !  " 

"  I  never  harmed  human  being,"'  said  the  Queen. 

The  Commune  decreed  that  the  family  should  take  their 
meals  together.  The  members  knew  somewhat  of  Marie 
Antoinette's  determination,  and  they  found  that,  if  separ- 
ated from  her  husband,  she  really  would  die  from  inanition, 
it  has  to  be  recorded  that  the  re-union  of  the  King  and 
Queen,  during  the  last  four  months  of  their  lives,  was  due, 
not  to  the  pity,  but  the  fear,  of  their  gaolers. 

But  they  only  met  at  meals,  and  then  they  were  com- 
pelled to  speak  French  onty,  and  in  a  loud  voice.  The 
children  were  never  again  allowed  play  about  their  father. 
This  family  was  killed  by  inches.  Their  hearts  were  dead 
before  the  knife  of  the  guillotine  mercifully  released  them. 

Clery  took  pity  upon  them,  and,  at  the  risk  of  his  own 
liberty  and  life,  forwarded,  by  his  wife,  who  was  allowed  to 
come  and  see  him  once  a  week,  a  line  of  farewell  to  this  or 
that  friend,  from  the  King  and  Queen.  These  adieux, 
some  of  which  still  exist,  are  written  with  the  stump  of  a 
pencil,  upon  the  margins  of  printed  pages,  and  which  were 
torn  from  books. 

The  King's  cell  was,  in  a  few  days,  set  in  something  like 
order;  but,  with  a  refinement  of  cruelty  beyond  description, 
the  walls  were  hung  with  a  paper  representing  the  interior 
life  of  prisons. 

Now  quite  desolate,  this  is  how  the  King  spent  his  time. 
He  rose  at  daybreak,  and,  kneeling,  prayed  for  a  long 
time.  Then,  the  light  quickening,  he  went  to  the  window, 
and  read  the  psalms  for  the  day.  After  this,  the  King  read 
what  books  he  could  obtain — he  read  many  scores  during 


294  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

Lis  captivity — and  this  reading  appeared  entirely  to  occupy 
his  mind.  At  nine,  the  family  met,  when  he  kissed  them 
all  on  the  forehead.  After  breakfast,  he  taught  his  son  in 
various  branches  of  knowledge.  The  Dauphin,  precocious 
in  misery,  had  by  this  time  tested  the  dispositions  of  most 
of  the  sentinels  ;  and  when  one  he  knew  to  be  less  brutal 
than  the  majority  mounted  guard,  the  poor  child  ran  with 
the  news  to  his  mother,  and  he  was  happy  for  the  day. 

At  two,  the  family  again  met,  and  dined.  But  the  King 
dared  not  give  way  to  the  fine  appetite  which  never  desert- 
ed him  at  any  period  of  his  life,  for  he  knew  not  only  that 
the  quantity  of  food  he  ate  was  recorded,  and  the  amount 
spead  over  Paris,  but  that  the  Queen  herself  was  exceed- 
ingly desirous  that  this  weak  point  in  the  King's  prison- 
life  should  not  give  cause  to  enable  it  to  be  said  that  the 
King's  appetite  in  prison  was  so  great  that  necessarily  he 
must  be  hardened  and  callous  to  a  degree. 

After  dinner,  the  King  and  Queen  were  allowed  to 
remain  for  a  brief  time  together — nay,  they  were  allowed  a 
pack  of  cards  and  a  set  of  chessmen  ;  but  they  were  forbid- 
den to  speak  in  a  low  tone  to  each  other,  and  a  sentinel 
always  kept  the  unhapp}r  couple  within  view. 

At  four,  the  King  generally  fell  asleep,  when  the  family 
remained  religiously  silent. 

At  six,  the  lessons  were  re-commenced  with  the  Dauphin, 
and  these  went  on  until  supper-time,  when  the  Queen  her- 
self undressed  the  Dauphin,  who  said,  in  a  low  tone,  the 
following  prayer:  "Almighty  God,  who  has  created  and 
redeemed  me,  I  love  you.  Watch  the  days  of  my  father 
and  my  family,  and  save  us  from  our  enemies,  and  give  my 
mamma,  and  my  aunt,  and  sister  strength  to  bear  all  their 
trouble." 

The  Dauphin  put  to  bed,  the  Queen  read  aloud  to  the 
King,  her  daughter,  and  Madame  Elizabeth. 

At  nine,  the  king  was  conducted  back  to  his  prison, 
where  he  read  until  midnight,  when  he  went  to  bed,  and 
slept  until  daybreak.  He,  however,  did  not  retire  until  he 
had  learnt  who  was  master  of  the  guard  for  the  following 
day.  If  the  name  was  one  associated  with  kindness,  the 
King's  heart  was  light,  and  he  fell  asleep  with  utter 
serenity. 

The  prison  was  very  damp,  and,  after  a  time,  the  King 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

fell  ill.  Clery  watched  him,  and  himself  fell  ill  as  Louis 
became  convalescent.  This  valet,  long  after  all  was  over, 
recounted  some  beautiful  particulars  of  this  illness. 

The  Dauphin  would  nurse  him,  and  passed  day  after  day 
in  the  man's  sick-room;  while  the  King  himself  would 
often  come  in  the  night,  bare-footed,  and  merely  in  his 
night-dress;  to  see  how  the  valet  was  progressing,  or  to  give 
hiiu  medicine. 

It  being  ordered  that  more  bolts  should  be  placed  upon 
the  doors  of  the  tower  in  which  the  King  was  imprisoned. 
the  mason  employed  to  sink  the  holes  in  the  stone-work 
into  which  the  bolts  were  to  run,  going  to  a  meal,  and 
leaving  bis  work  tools  upon  the  ground,  the  King  took  up 
a  chisel,  and  began  laboring  at  the  means  taken  to 
strengthen  his  prison.  The  mason  recognised  the  King  at 
this  labor. 

"  Ah,"  said  he  "  when  you  leave  this  place,  you  will  be 
able  to  say  you  worked  at  j'our  own  prison." 

"  And  how  shall  I  leave  it?  "  asked  the  King,  who  sud- 
denly drew  his  son  towards  him,  and  retired  to  his  cell, 
where  he  paced  up  and  down  a  long  while. 

The  watch  was  intense.  Every  loaf  of  bread  sent  to  the 
royal  table  was  searched  and  broken,  the  fruit — the  very 
kernel  of  a  peach,  upon  one  occasion  split  to  find  a  letter." 

A  deputation  arriving,  asked  the  King  whether  he  lacked 
anj'thing. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  my  wife  and  family  want  clothes — 
you  see  we  are  in  rags." 

Meanwhile,  the  King's  cousin,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  who 
had  become  a  Republican  under  the  name  of  Citizen  Philip 
Equality,  uttered  no  word  in  favor  of  his  royal  cousin  lan- 
guishing in  the  Temple. 

Another  misfortune  now  fell  upon  the  King.  It  will  be 
remembered  how  fond  the  King  was  of  lock-making.  His 
master  in  the  art,  one  Gamain,  had  loved  the  King  clearly, 
but  he  turned  upon  the  fallen  monarch.  It  appears  that 
prior  to  quitting  the  Tuileries,  the  King,  being  desirous  of 
hiding  certain  treasures,  and  especially  certain  papers 
received  from  abroad,  relative  to  the  schemes  in  progress 
for  helping  the  King  by  the  invasion  of  France,  he  had 
worked  with  this  blacksmith  at  the  formation  of  a  hiding 
place  in  the  walls  of  the  palace  for  the  iron  box,  which  con- 
tained these  papers  and  valuables. 


296  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

After'the  arrest  of  the  King,  Gamain  fell  ill  of  a  slow 
consuming  illness,  probably  low  fever,  when  gradually  lie 
convinced  himself  that  a  certain  glass  of  water  the  King 
had  himself  handed  the  locksmith,  while  they  were  both 
putting  the  finishing  strokes  to  the  hiding  place,  was  poi- 
soned, and  that  the  King's  motive  was  a  conviction  that 
the  secret  of  these  State  papers  could  only  be  safe  through 
his,  the  blacksmith's,  death.  This  man  must  surely  have 
been  overpowered  by  delirium  when  such  a  conviction  took 
possession  of  him.  His  illness  continuing,  the  thought  of 
revenge  took  possession  of  him  ;  and  finally,  he  denounced 
the  whole  affair  to  the  Convention. 

This  act  did  more  to  send  the  King  to  the  scaffold  than 
any  other  process  executed  against  Louis  XVI.  In  the 
frrst  place,  the  theory  of  the  poison  was  at  once  accepted, 
and  it  appeared  necessarily  very  feasible  to  a  multitude 
ignorant  of  the  question  of  poisons  ;  and,  in  the  second,  no 
proof  could  be  brought  against  Louis  of  conspiring  with  a 
foreign  Power  to  invade  France;  an  act  which  was  treason 
■ — therefore  one  which,  proved,  called  for  the  penalty  of 
death. 

Gamain  led  the  way  to  the  spot  where  lay  concealed  the 
hidden  treasure,  and  upon  papers  found  in  that  box  Louis 
XVI  was  put  upon  his  trial. 

The  King  became  accustomed  to  captivity — found  it 
almost  rest — rest  which  was  disturbed  only  on  December  11 
(1792),  when  the  noise  of  an  approaching  procession  drew 
the  attention  of  the  royal  family  to  their  windows. 

The  King  learnt  that  he  was  to  be  put  upon  his  trial. 
Two  hours  afterwards,  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  Conven- 
tion. 

To  him,  the  city  appeared  as  though  besieged.  Every 
soldier  around  the  royal  carriage  had  had  served  out  to  him 
sixteen  cartridges. 

The  King  looked  wretched.  His  razors  had  been  taken 
from  him,  and  his  hair  was  rough  and  scrubby  about  his 
face.  He  had  grown  thin,  and  his  clothes  hung  miserably 
about  him.     But  he  was  quite  unmoved. 

He  took  his  seat  quietly  before  the  Convention. 

"Citizens,"  cried  the  President,  "Louis  Capet  is  at  the 
bar.     You  are  about  to  give  a  lesson  to  kings." 

The  accusation  was  then  read.  It  accused  him  of  high 
treason  in  calling  upon  the  foreigner  to  enter  France. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

He  listened  quite  unmovedly  until  he  was  accused  of 
"shedding  the  blood  of  the  people."  He  raised  his  eyes  to 
heaven.  It  was  clear  lie  had  not  anticipated  being  tailed  a 
sanguinary  prince. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  day's  examination,  the  King's 
fatal  appetite  failed  him,  and  be  refused  an  offer  to  obtain 
refreshments  ;  but  almost  immediately  afterwards,  seeing  a 
soldier  gnawing  a  piece  of  bread,  he  asked  for  a  part,  and 
ate  it  with  relish. 

Upon  the  return-ride  to  the  Temple,  he  counted  the 
number  of  streets. 

It  was  the  King's  sister,  Elizabeth — a  veritable  angel, — 
who  foresaw  what  was  to  happen. 

'•Was  the  Queen  mentioned  in  the  indictment?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,"  replied  the  King. 

"Thank  heaven!"  said  the  good  Princess;  "for  if  the 
Queen  were  taken,  who,  then,  should  look  after  these 
children  ?  " 

These  very  words  foretell  what  the  Princess  foresaw — 
that  if  the  Queen's  blood  was  demanded,  her  own  would 
follow. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

THE    KING'S    TRIAL    PROCEEDED    "WITH. 

The  King  had  scarcely  quitted  the  Convention  upon  the 
occasion  of  his  first  appearance  there,  than  he  was  accorded 
the  privilege  of  even  the  commonest  prisoner  on  his  trial — 
that  of  choosing  two  counsel  for  his  defence.  The  King 
chose  two — one  named  Trouchet  ;  the  other,  Target.  Ihe 
former  willingly  accepted  the  office  ;  the  second  dreaded  to 
appear  as  the  accomplice  of  the  King;  and  wrote  a  cow- 
ardly letter,  saying,  to  defend  Louis  Capet  would  be  to  out- 
rage his  own  principles.  But  this  precaution,  so  far  from 
saving  him.  marked  him  out  to  the  terrorists  as  a  man  who 
was  a  coward,  and.  in  his  turn,  he  was  drafted  to  the  scaf- 
fold, undefended  and  unlamented. 


298  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

An  old  man,  and  a  great  one,  of  a  family  notorious  for 
their  wisdom  and  their  justice — one  Malsherbes,  aged 
seventy-four,  and  who  had  served  twice  as  a  Minister  dur- 
ing Louis  XVI's  reign — took  the  position  offered  to  the 
wretched  man,  Target,  and  refused  by  him. 

Indeed,  he  asked  for  it.  The  act  is  well  worth  admira- 
tion. At  seventy-four,  when  most  men  are  weary  of  life, 
this  good  man  asked  for  a  position  which  he  knew  was  one 
which  might  involve  the  forfeiture  of  his  own  existence. 
►Said  he,  "  I  was  twice  summoned  to  the  council  of  him 
who  was  my  master  at  a  time  when  everybody  was  ambi- 
tious of  the  post,  and  I  owe  him  this  service  now  that  this 
office  is,  in  the  eyes  of  most  persons,  one  of  danger  ;  and 
had  I  the  means  of  acquainting  him  with  my  wishes,  I 
should  not  seek  another  mode  of  striving  to  serve  him  "  (he 
was  speaking  to  the  President  of  the  Convention)  ;  "  but  I 
think,  seeing  the  position  you  hold,  that  you  can  most 
safely  convey  to  Louis  XVI  my  desire  to  se^ve  him." 

The  Convention,  violent  as  were  its  members,  reverenced 
this  devotion  of  friendship,  and  honest  Malsherbes  was 
appointed  to  the  task  of  defending  the  fallen  King. 

"  Malsherbes,"  said  a  friend  to  him,  as  he  was  leaving 
the  Convention,  "you  are  the  friend  of  Louis  XVI;  how 
can  you  bring  him  papers  in  which  he  will  read  the  expres- 
sions of  the  wrath  of  the  people  against  him  ?  " 

"  The  King  is  not  like  other  men,"  returned  M.  de  Mal- 
sherbes. "  He  possesses  a  great  mind,  and  such  faith  as 
raises  him  above  all  things." 

"You  are  an  honest  man,"  replied  the  friend.  "But  if 
you  were  not,  what  is  to  prevent  you  from  bringing  him 
poison,  as  a  weapon,  or  advising  him  to  commit  suicide  ?  " 

Malsherbes  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  replied, 
"If  the  King  were  of  the  religion  of  the  philosophers — 
were  he  a  Cato  or  a  Brutus — he  might  kill  himself.  But 
he  is  pious — he  is  a  Christian — he  knows  that  religion  for- 
bids him  to  lay  violent  hands  upon  himself,  and  he  will  not 
commit  suicide." 

Malsherbes  went  daily  after  this  to  see  the  King,  to  com- 
mune with  him  upon  the  defence  which  was  to  be  set  up. 

But  of  what  avail  was  any  defence  ?  The  question  was 
not  whether  or  not  the  King  was  guilty,  but  whether  or 
not  his  death  would  be  of  advantage  to  the  establishment 
of  the  republic. 


LOVE    AXD     LIBERTY.  29  9 

During  these  final  days  of  li is  life,  the  King  was  entirely 
deprived  of  the  consolation  of  set  eing  his  family.  He  was 
now  kept  completely  isolated.  However,  by  the  mercy  of 
Glory,  his  servant,  on  the  one  hand,  and  that  of  Turgy,  the 
Queen's  attendant,  on  the  other,  the  desolate  couple  com- 
municated. A  few  words  were  written  on  a  morsel  of  thin 
paper,  which,  being  folded,  a  needle  was  run  through  it,  and 
it  was  in  this  condition  concealed  in  a  hank  of  sewing- 
thread,  which  was  put  in  the  Queen's  work-box  by  Turgy, 
who  placed  the  thread,  and  its  answering  line,  in  Clery's 
way,  who  conveyed  it  to  a  place  where  the  King  would  look 
for  it. 

Louis  XVI  never  had  any  doubt  that  he  would  be  exe- 
cuted. On  the  other  hand,  he  does  not  appear,  up  to  the 
time  of  his  trial,  to  have  assumed  for  one  moment  that  the 
Queen  would  suffer. 

Before  his  sentence  was  pronounced,  he  made  his  will. 
It  is  a  long  document.  Here  are  some  of  the  chief  lines  in 
this  testament : — "  I,  Louis  XVI  of  that  name,  and  King 
of  France,  confined  for  four  months  in  the  Tower  of  the 
Temple,  at  Paris,  by  those  who  were  my  subjects,  and  de- 
prived during  eleven  daj's  of  all  communication  with  even 
my  family,  and,  moreover,  implicated  in  a  trial,  the  outcome 
of  which  no  man  can  with  certainty  foresee — for  who  can 
measure  the  passions  of  men  ? — having  no  one,  save  God, 
as  a  witness  of  my  thoughts,  or  to  whom  1  can  address  my- 
self, do  here  declare,  in  His  presence,  this  my  last  will  and 
testament.  I  bequeath  my  soul  to  God,  my  creator,  and 
pray  that,  in  all  his  mercy,  he  will  accept  it.  I  die  in  the 
faith  of  the  Church,  and  bow  to  its  laws.  I  pray  the  good 
Lord  to  forgive  me  as  I  have  forgiven.  I  have  striven 
hard  to  remember  some  of  my  sins,  and  to  abominate  them. 
1  bow  before  God.  I  beg  all  that  I  have  accidental!}' 
injured — for  by  my  will  I  never  hurt  human  being — to  for- 
give me  the  harm  they  ma}-  believe  I  have  caused  them. 

"  I  pray  all  men  of  charity  to  add  their  prayers  to  mine. 
I  pardon,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  all  those  who  are 
my  enemies,  without  that  I  have  given  them  cause  to  be 
other  than  my  friends ;  and  I  ask  God  to  pardon  them  also, 
for  they  know  not  what  they  do.  I  also  pray  pardon  for 
those  whose  zeal  in  my  cause  has  done  me  so  much  harm. 
I  recommend  to  God  my  wife  and  children,  my  sister,  my 


300  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

aunts  and  brothers,  and  all  those  belonging  to  me  through 
blood,  or  by  any  other  way.  I  pray  heaven  to  look  pitying- 
ly upon  my  wife,  and  children,  and  sister,  all  of  whom  have 
too  long  suffered  with  me,  and  to  strengthen  them  if  they 
lose  me,  so  long  as  they  shall  remain  in  this  world.  To  my 
wife  I  recommend  my  children,  whom  she  has  never  ceas-ed 
to  love  ;  and  I  pray  my  wife  to  teach  her  children  to  look 
upon  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  world — if  they  should 
be  so  unfortunate  as  to  suffer  them — only  as  dangerous  and 
vanished  possessions,  and  to  turn  their  thoughts  to  eternity. 
And  I  pray  my  sister  to  he  gentle  as  ever  to  my  children, 
should  they  have  the  misfortune  to  lose  her." 

This  is  the  first  time,  in  sooth,  the  King  betrays  the  least 
intimation  of  his  fears  that  his  blood  will  not  suffice  to  ap- 
peased the  national  rage.  And  even  here  it  may  be  doubt- 
ed whether  Louis  does  not  rather  refer  to  natural  than  vio- 
lent death,  for  the  Princess  Elizabeth  was  younger  than  the 
Queen.  It  will  be  seen  that,  even  at  this  pass,  and  solemn 
moment,  the  King  has  not  the  least  thought  that  the  Prin- 
cess herself  will  be  despatched  below  the  knife  of  the  guil- 
lotine. 

The  King's  will  continued  : — 

"  I  pray  my  wife  to  pardon  me  all  she  has  suffered,  and 
will  suffer,  on  my  account,  and  all  the  sorrow  I  may  have 
caused  her  in  my  life,  as  she  may  be  certain  I  forgive  her  if 
she  can  possibly  suppose  that  she  has  ever  caused  me  a 
grief. 

"  I  pray  my  children,  after  their  love  to  God,  which  is 
above  all,  to  love  one  another,  and  to  live  in  peace ;  to  be 
grateful  and  obedient  to  their  mother ;  and  in  memory  of 
me.  I  pray  them  to  look  upon  my  sister  as  their  second 
mother. 

"  I  pray  my  son,  should  he  be  so  luckless  as  to  become 
King,  t  >  forget  the  troubles  I  shall  have  parsed  through,  and 
to  forgive  the  people,  who  know  not  what  they  do,  that  which 
they  will  accomplish.  Let  him  not  forget  that  he  was 
born  for  the  happiness  of  his  subjects  ;  that  he.  can  only 
reign  safely  by  upholding  the  laws  ;  and  that  he  can  only 
do  this  while  his  power  lasts.  Once  let  him  lose  power,  and 
he  becomes  more  injurious  than  ever  he  was  useful  ;  and, 
above  all,  let  him  remember  the  load  of  debt  I  owe  to  the 
children  of  the  men  who  have  already  fallen  in  defending 
my  cause." 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  301 

[These  words  are  obviously  the  result  of  Louis's  study  of 
the  history  of  England,  of  the  stigma  that  rests  upon  the 
memory  of  Charles  II,  through  persistently  ignoring  the 
just  claims  of  the  children  of  the  men  who  had  died  in 
the  Pause  of  his  beheaded  father,  Charles  L] 

The  King  concludes  his  will  by  recommending  ChSry  to 
the  Convention,  and  asking  that  the  sword,  purse,  jewels, 
and  other  ornaments  taken  from  him  may  be  given  to  that 
person  after  the  writer  shall  be  dead. 

He  signed  the  will  "Louis,"  as  though  he  still  reigned. 

This  will  is  sublime  in  its  simplicity;  its  Christianity, 
pity,  regret,  and  massive  setting  aside  his  life  as  past  away, 
are  all  very  beautiful  points;  while  the  belief  that  his  death 
would  compensate  all,  and  that  the  country  would  not  visit 
his  faults  upon  the  heads  of  his  family,  shows  still  an 
amount  of  faith  in  his  people  which  is  truly  touching. 

I  pon  the  defence  being  read,  the  King  found  it  opened 
with  an  appeal  to  the  people,  and  a  description  of  the  wretch- 
ed condition  of  the  royal  family.  The  two  counsel  and  the 
King,  who  were  the  only  people  who  heard  this  defence 
read,  and  which  had  been  put  into  form  by  the  reader,  De- 
seze,  were  all  moved  at  the  beauty  of  the  language. 

But  the  King  was  inflexible. 

"  All  that  must  be  struck  out,"  he  said. 

And  he  insisted — for  was  he  not  a  dying  man  ?  The 
wishes  of  the  dying  are  obeyed. 

After  the  reading  of  the  defence,  the  King,  being  left 
alone  with  Malsherbes,  he  was  tormented  by  the  thought 
that  he  could  not  compensate  his  counsel  for  their  labors. 

"Deseze  and  Trouchet,"  he  said,  "owe  me  nothing. 
They  gave  me  their  time,  exertions,  and,  perhaps,  their  lives, 
and  I  cannot  pay  them.  Even  if  I  leave  a  legacy,  it  will 
not  be  paid.     Again,  what  could  pay  such  work  as  theirs  ?  " 

"  Sire,  you  have  the  power  of  repaying  them.'' 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Take  them,  for  one  mere  moment,  to  your  heart." 

So,  next  day,  when  the  two  gentlemen  came,  he  held 
open  his  arms,  and  pressed  these  brave  men,  one  after  the 
the  other,  to  his  heart. 

This  was  all  that  he  had  to  bestow — a  royal  accolate,  the 
peaceful  kiss  of  a  dying  man. 

At  this  second  examination,  they  gave  the  King  a  suit  of 


802  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

clothing,  in  which  he  looked  at  worst  passable.  But  another 
shape  of  indignity  was  put  upon  him:  he  was  kept  waiting 
in  a  cold  waiting-room  during  a  wdiole  hour. 

The  King  was  advised  not  to  shave,  that  the  savagery  of 
his  gaolers  in  even  depriving  him  of  so  common  a  necessa- 
ry as  a  razor  should  move  his  judges.  But  the  King  refus- 
ed to  avail  himself  of  this  theatrical  effect.  He  was  rather 
fitted  to  fall  with  dignity  into  the  repose  of  death,  than  to 
war,  fight,  battle  for  life. 

Louis  XVI  forgave  the  men  who  were  to  condemn  him 
before  they  tried  him  ;  but  his  very  pardon  became  his 
most  perfect  revenge  in  the  eyes  of  posterity. 

The  King's  counsel  spoke  logically,  but  with  no  power  of 
words.  Having  finished,  Louis  XVI,  who  had  followed 
his  advocate  as  though  rather  interested  for  this  gentleman 
than  for  himself,  rose  and  uttered  these  words : — 

"  You  have  now  heard  the  grounds  of  my  defence,  and  I 
shall  not  repeat  them.  In  speaking  to  you  for  the  first,  and 
perhaps  the  last,  time,  I  declare  that  I  can  accuse  myself  of 
nothing;  that  my  advocate  has  spoken  the  truth,  and  noth- 
ing but  the  truth.  I  never  feared  that  all  I  did  should  be 
make  public,  but  I  grieve  that  you  accuse  me  of  spilling 
the  blood  of  the  people.  And  that  the  misfortunes  of  the 
10th  of  August  are  attributed  to  me.  I  had  thought  that 
the  numerous  evidences  of  love  for  my  people  which  I  have 
shown  would  have  placed  me  above  such  an  accusation. 
This  is  not  the  case,  and  I  must  bear  with  what  has  happen- 
ed. I  declare  that  I  exposed  my  life  to  save  the  shedding 
of  one  drop  of  the  blood  of  my  people." 

He  turned,  and  left  the  chamber. 

"Let  him  be  judged  !  "  cried  Bazere. 

"'Tis  time  the  nation  learns  if  she  is  right  in  wishing  to 
be  free,  and  if  this  is  a  crime  !  " 

"  I  ask,"  cried  Languinais,  "  that  the  sentence  be  declar- 
ed by  a  ballot  of  all  France  ! " 

"  To  prison  with  Languinais  !  "   cried  many  voices. 

"  You  are  too  openly  a  Boyalist,"   cried  Thuriot. 

"  Why,"  cried  another,  "  he  wills  to  try  us,  and  make 
Louis  himself  judge." 

"  And  I  say,"  replied  Languinais,  fearlessly,  "  that  you 
constitute  yourselves  accusers,  judges,  jury,  and  execution- 
ers. Let  the  people  declare  themselves !  Let  there  be  lib- 
erty of  speech,  to  declare  whether  the  King  shall  live  or  die." 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  803 

"Down  with  him !  "   cried  a  voice. 

"  You  shall  hear  me,"  cried  Languinais. 

"  Put  him  upon  his  trial !  place  him  in  the  dock,  and  let 
him  instantly  be  tried  !  " 

'•  To  prison  with  him  !  " 

Silence  was  at  last  restored ;  hut  when  Languinais  sat 
down,  he  knew  he  was  a  condemned  man — he  knew  nothing 
could  save  him. 

Meanwhile,  in  an  antechamber,  where  the  murmurs  of 
his  judges  were  audible,  the  King's  counsel  were  endeavor- 
ing to  cheer  him  with  a  little  hope.  The  people  had  demon- 
strated with  somewhat  of  kindly  feeling  in  favor  of  the 
King  at  various  theatres. 

On  his  return  to  the  Temple,  the  King  having  nothing  of 
value  with  which  he  could  partially  repay  his  counsel,  took 
off  his  laced  cravat  and  gave  it  to  Deseze. 

On  the  1st  of  January,  after  the  French  fashion  of  wish- 
ing friends  a  happy  new  year,  Clery  approached  his  mas- 
ter's bed  and  offered  him  best  wishes  for  the  continuance  of 
his  life. 

The  King  put  his  hands  together  and  prayed,  for  he 
remembered  that  this  was  the  day  in  the  year  when  his 
thousand  courtiers  flocked  to  his  palace  to  congratulate 
him. 

Rising,  he  sent  to  ask  if  his  daughter  was  better  (for  the 
Princess  was  ill),  and  to  wish  the  Queen  a  happy  new  year. 

From  the  first  to  the  16th  of  January,  he  was  kept 
immured  in  the  great  tower  of  the  Temple,  perfectly  iso- 
lated. No  one  was  allowed  to  see  him,  not  even  one  of  his 
family.  The  fallen  King  passed  his  time  reading  the  his- 
tory of  England,  especially  the  volumes  of  the  life  and 
execution  of  Charles  I — history  which  appeared  to  fascinate 
him. 

Meanwhile,  the  members  of  the  Convention  were  daily 
disputing  the  question  of  the  King's  life  or  death. 

St.  Just  now  rose  to  the  surface.  Unpityingly  he  cried, 
"  If  the  King  is  innocent,  the  people  are  guilty.  You  have 
declared  martial  law  against  the  tyrants  of  the  whole 
world,  and  spare  your  own.  The  Revolution  only  begins 
where  the  tyrant  ends." 

Another  cried,  "  If  with  this,  my  hand,  I  alone  could 
strangle  all  tyrants,  I  would  not  hesitate  to  rid  the  world  of 
them." 


304  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

But  the  rising  party  in  the  house  lived  by  favor  of  the 
eager  revolutionists,  whom  they  dared  not  oppose.  With, 
them  it  was  necessary  that  the  King  should  die. 

Another,  upon  another  day,  cried,  "  We  have  lost  three 
hours  this  day  talking  of  a  thing  they  call  a  King.  Are 
we,  then,  revolutionists  ?     No ;  we  are  vile  slaves." 

Camille  Desmoulins  stuttered,  "  Let  him  be  killed,  with 
this  word  on  his  brow — '  Tratior  ! '  and  this  ou  his  back — 
'King!'" 

Another  cried,  "  Henceforth,  let  murderers  and  thieves 
be  buried  in  the  royal  vaults  !  " 

At  length  the  Convention  agreed  to  the  plan  of  every 
member  of  the  Convention  voting  upon  these  three 
questions  : — 

1.  Is  Louis  guilty  ? 

2.  Shall  the  decision  of  the  Convention  be  submitted  to 
the  ratification  of  the  people. 

3.  What  shall  be  the  sentence  ? 

To  the  first  question,  nearly  seven  hundred  as  against 
about  a  dozen,  voted  "  Yes." 

On  the  second,  two  hundred  and  eighty  voices  voted  for 
the  appeal  to  the  people ;  four  hundred  and  twenty-three 
against  it. 

It  was  now  (January  16)  that  Danton  first  betrayed  his 
insatiable  thirst  for  blood. 

"I  thought,"  cried  he,  "we  were  assembled  for  other 
purposes  than  those  of  the  drama." 

Ct  Tis  a  question  of  liberty  !  "  cried  several  voices. 

"  Question  of  liberty  ?  "  cried  Danton.  "  'Tis  a  question 
of  a  comedy — that  taking  off  the  head  of  a  tyrant  with  the 
axe  of  a  King!  I  demand  that  we  do  not  separate  before 
we  have  pronounced  sentence  upon  Louis  !  His  accomplices 
have  fallen  without  delay,  therefore  let  him  fall  at  once  ! " 

Everything  declared  in  favor  of  Louis's  death  by  this 
same  January  16.  On  this  day  itself,  a  poor  fellow  named 
Louvain,  who  had  been  one  at  the  taking  of  the  Bastille, 
venturing  to  say  that  the  republic  ought  to  be  established 
without  the  death  of  Louis  XVI,  a  friend  and  companion 
near  him  plunged  his  sword  into  his  breast. 

In  the  evening,  a  book-pedlar,  suspected  of  royalism, 
leaving  a  public  reading-room,  was  accused  by  the  people 
of  distributing  pamphlets  in  favor  of  the  King's  cause.  He 
was  assassinated  with  thirty  dagger-thrusts. 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  305 

Upon  this  day  the  soldiery  swept  over  Paris,  brandishing 
their  swords,  singing  patriotic  songs,  and  looking  eagerly 
for  the  least  signs  of  opponents. 

In  a  certain  church  in  Paris,  the  hearts  of  past-away 
kings  were  kept  in  silver  vases.  These  were  seized  and 
broken  open,  and  the  contents  cast  into  the  common  sewer. 

At  the  Hall  of  the  Convention  a  fearful  scene  was  pro- 
gressing— the  voting  upon  the  sentence.  It  is  night-time, 
and  the  hurriedly  raised  black  hangings  suggest  more  an 
execution  than  a  place  of  justice.  The  Convention  is  held 
in  an  old  monastery — dark,  drear,  and  wretched.  A  few 
scattered  lanterns  make  the  darkness  visible,  and  throw 
a  pale  light  upon  the  faces  of  passers-by.  At  the  two 
principal  entrances  are  cannon,  the  attendant  artillerymen 
with  the  continuously  lighted  fuse  in  hand.  The  cannon 
is  there  rather  to  be  turned  upon  the  members  of  the  Con- 
vention than  to  intimidate  the  people. 

"  His  death — or  thine  !  " 

These  were  the  words  each  Conventionist  heard  as  he 
passed  into  the  Hall — words  uttered  in  whispers,  but  which 
shook  the  hearers  as  though  they  were  thunder. 

Persons  who  knew  the  various  members  were  present, 
who  received  them  and  commented  upon  their  opinions. 
As  Danton,  Marat,  Robespierre  and  Camille  Desmoulins 
passed,  the  ranks  showed  all  the  signs  of  respect.  Others 
were  threatened.  Languinais  passed  through  a  forest  of 
thrusting  pikes  to  reach  the  voting  table. 

The  Hall  itself  was  very  dark,  the  benches  being  filled 
with  young  and  beautiful  women  of  the  people  class.  Be- 
fore them  were  a  number  of  butchers,  reeking  from  their 
slaughter-houses. 

Fifteen  hours  had  the  deputies  sat — few  remained.  Of 
those  present,  some  were  in  little  groups — others  had  fallen 
asleep. 

The  first  votes  left  everything  in  uncertainty.  Death 
and  Exile  were  voted  alternately. 

Vergniaud,  the  leader  of  the  Girondists,  who  had  sworn 
to  save  the  King's  life,  whose  vote  would  control  that  of 
all  the  Girondists,  voted  "  Death  !  " 

The  King  was  doomed,  because    the  Jacobins  were  all 
certain  to  vote  "  Death  "  to  a  man. 
19 


306  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

Robespierre  started,  and  Danton  said,  in  a  low,  scoffing 
voice,  "  These  are  j'our  orators  !  " 

The  last  man  but  one  called  to  vote  was  the  King's 
cousin,  the  Due  d'Orleans,  Philip  Equality.  It  was 
thought  the  ties  of  nature  and  of  blood  would  compel  him 
to  vote  for  exile. 

He  said  these  words : — 

"  My  thoughts  being  fixed  wholly  upon  duty,  convinced 
that  whoever  shall  now  or  hereafter  attempt  to  establish 
monarchy  in  this  land  is  worthy  death — I  vote  death  !  " 

This  man,  this  monster  to  his  own  blood,  had  in  early 
youth  been  so  abject  a  coward,  that,  during  a  naval  engage- 
ment between  the  French  and  English,  he  had  gone  down 
into  the  cock-pit,  whence  no  one  could  induce  him  to 
remove  until  the  action  was  over.  The  cowardice  of  his 
youth  was  well  supplemented  by  his  voting  the  King's 
death. 

Even  Robespierre  condemned  him.  Returning  to  Du- 
play's  house  in  the  evening,  he  said,  "  The  miserable  man  ! 
He  was  expected  to  listen  to  the  pleadings  of  his  own 
heart,  and  vote  exile  ;  but  he  would  not,  or  dared  not.  The 
nation  despises  him  henceforth  !  " 

The  monstrous  act  did  not  save  him  from  the  Reign  of 
Terror.  He  died  on  the  scaffold — the  most  guilty  wretch 
who  there  ended  life. 

Followed  the  man  Orleans,  a  deputy,  lying  on  a  hand- 
bed.     He  was  dying,  and  he  voted  death  ! 

A  herald  arrived  from  the  King  of  Spain,  interceding 
for  the  King's  life. 

Danton  rose  to  speak,  without  the  Speaker's  permission. 

"  Thou  art  not  yet  King,  Danton  !  "  cried  a  voice. 

"  I  am  astounded  at  Spain's  insolence  !  "  cried  Danton. 
"  I  desire  that  war  against  Spain  be  immediately  declar- 
ed !  " 

The  intercession  damaged,  rather  than  benefited,  the 
royal  cause. 

The  scrutiny  of  the  votes  now  commenced. 

Three  hundred  and  thirty-four  voted  for  exile  or  impris- 
onment. 

Three  hundred  and  eighty-seven  voted  for  death.  Thus 
death  was  in  a  majority  of  fifty-three  ;  but,  by  subtracting 
from  this  number  the  forty-six  voices  which  had  also  voted 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  307 

a  suspension  of  the  execution  of  death,  the  majority  in 
favor  of  immediate  death  was  seven  ! 

The  Girondists,  who  did  not  wish  for  the  King's  death, 
had  voted  his  execution,  and  thereby  favored  their  enemies, 
the  Jacobins,  whose  thirst  for  death  was  unquenchable. 

On  the  morning  of  the  19th  January,  Louis,  who  had 
been  by  this  time  restored  to  his  family,  saw  Malsherbes 
approaching  him.     The  old  man  fell  on  his  knees. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  King  ;  "  Death  !  " 


CHAPTER  LII. 

NEAR     THE     BLOCK. 

The  King,  learning  that  he  was  to  die  at  once,  became  a 
man  almost  heroic. 

With  calm  curiosity,  and  as  though  making  inquiries 
concerning  the  affairs  of  another  man,  and  not  of  his  own, 
he  learnt  the  particulars  of  the  voting ;  and  he  made 
special  inquiries  concerning  the  votes  of  various  members 
of  the  Convention. 

"  Petion  and  Manuel,"  he  said, — "  I  am  sure  they  did 
not  vote  my  death  ?  " 

No  answer  returned. 

"And  my  cousin,  the  Due  d'Orleans, — how  voted  he  ?  " 

Malsherbes  bowed  his  head. 

The  King  now  exhibited  the  first  signs  of  pain — of 
agony. 

"  That  vote  affects  me  more  than  all  the  rest." 

This  was  as  the  words  of  Csesar,  falling,  "And  you,  too, 
Brutus?" 

Here  a  posse  of  authorities  arrived,  to  announce  his  sen- 
tence to  the  Ki^g,  with  all  the  pomp  and  display  of  circum- 
stance. 

The  King  stood  up,  his  head  erect,  his  eyes  upon  his 
judges,  and  he  listened  to  his  fate — death  within  twenty- 
four  hours — with  the  intrepidity  of  a  brave  man.  One  look 
towards  heaven,  as  he  heard  the  words  which  curtailed  his 
life,  and  then  he  was  once  more  facing  his  enemies. 


308  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

The  commtucation  read,  the  King  advanced,  and,  taking 
it,  put  the  document  very  calmly  into  a  little  portfolio. 

"  Sir,"  he  said  to  the  officiating  minister  of  the  Conven- 
tion and  speaking  half  roj'ally,  half  supplicating]}^  "  1  re- 
quest you  to  deliver  this  letter  to  the  Convention." 

The  secretary  hesitated  to  take  the  paper. 

"I  will  read  it  to  you,"  said  the  King;  and  he  com- 
menced. "  I  demand  from  the  Convention  three  da}'s,  in 
which  to  prepare  my  soul  for  God,  I  require  freely  to  see 
the  priest,  whom  I  am  ahout  to  name,  and  that  he  be  pro- 
tected while  extending  to  me  the  charity  of  his  holy  office. 
I  demand  to  be  freed  from  the  shameful  watchfulness  which 
has  surrounded  me  now  for  many  days  past.  I  ask,  during 
tnese  nry  last  moments,  leave  to  see  my  family  when  I  will, 
and  without  witnesses.  And  I  pray  most  earnestly  that  the 
Convention  will  at  once  take  into  consideration  the  fate  of 
my  family ;  and  that  they  may,  after  my  death,  at  once  be 
allowed  to  go  whither  they  will.  I  recommend  to  the  love 
of  the  nation  all  persons  who  in  any  way  have  claims  on 
me.  These  are,  man}r  of  them,  old  men,  and  women,  and 
children.     Many  of  them  must  be  in  want." 

These  words  show  that  even  at  this  point  the  King  had 
not  the  least  thought  of  the  popular  vengeance  going  be- 
3'ond  himself,  and  falling  on  the  Queen.  He  cannot  com- 
prehend that  they  will  kill  women  and  children — his  faith 
in  loyalty  and  manhood  is  too  strong  to  admit  of  anjT  such 
suspicion  in  his  breast.  The  faults  of  Louis,  those  rather 
of  apathy  than  action,  were  many;  but  he  was  a  brave  and 
loyal  gentleman,  who  certainly  could  not  comprehend  cow- 
ardice. 

The  name  of  the  minister  for  whose  holy  office  the  King 
asked,  and  which  was  written  upon  the  separate  piece  of 
paper,  was  Abbe  Edgeworth  de  Fermont — a  gentleman  de- 
scended from  a  good  Irish  family. 

The  secretary  took  the  two  papers  ;  whereupon  the  King 
bowed,  as  though  dismissing  his  ministers  at  Court,  thereby 
intimating  his  desire  to  be  left  alone. 

The  minister  retired. 

"When  they  were  gone,  the  King  walked  up  and  down  his 
prison  with  a  firm,  steady  step.  Suddenly  he  looked  up — 
his  fatal  appetite,  that  scourge  of  the  Bourbons,  was  upon 
him — and  asked  for  his  dinner. 


TOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  309 

It  was  served  without  a  knife — a  spoon  replacing  that 
utensil.  He  was  far  more  indignant  at  these  precautions 
than  at  hearing  his  death-warrant  read. 

"  Do  they  think  me  such  a  coward,"  he  cried,  "  as  to  de- 
prive my  enemies  of  my  life  ?  Do  they  think  if  a  knife  is 
given  me  to  feed  with,  I  shall  save  the  guillotine  the  trouhle 
of  destroying  me  ?  Poor  creatures  !  I  am  accused  of  pub- 
lic crimes — I  have  committed  no  crimes  ;  and,  therefore,  why 
should  I  so  much  fear  death  as  to  anticipate  its  terrors.  I 
die  innocent,  and  therefore,  fearlessly.  I  would  that  my 
blood  might  atone  for  France,  and  that  thereby  the  troubles 
I  foresee  coming  be  averted." 

At  six  o'clock,  Garat,  the  reader  of  the  sentence,  and  San- 
terre,  had  an  interview  with  the  King,  to  bring  the  answer 
of  the  Convention  to  his  commands. 

The  Convention  had  decided  that  no  farther  time  should 
be  given  to  the  King.  A  few  members  had  shown  some 
sentiment  of  mere}'.  The  reply  was  the  exhibition  of  half 
a  dozen  sabres  on  the  part  of  the  fiercer  deputies,  who  de- 
clared that  if  these  men  who  pleaded  for  the  concession  of 
the  King's  request  were  not  silent  living,  they  should  be 
mute  dead. 

These  courageous  men,  however,  fought  the  good  fight  of 
pity  through  five  hours. 

A  majority  of  thirty-four  refused  all  delay. 

One  man,  Kersaint,  protested  with  a  reckless  nobleness  of 
courage,  which  has  placed  him  in  the  rank  of  great  heroes. 

He  gave  in  this  written  protest : — 

"  Citizens, — 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  any  longer  to  support  the  dis- 
grace of  sitting  in  the  Convention  with  blood-thirsty  men, 
when  their  opinion,  aided  by  terror,  prevails  over  that  of 
good  men.  If  the  love  of  my  country  has  forced  me  to  en- 
dure the  misfortune  of  being  one  in  a  body  of  men  amongst 
whom  there  is  a  section  who  applaud  the  murders  of  Sep- 
tember, I  will  at  least  defend  my  memory  from  the  charge 
of  having  been  their  accomplice.  I  have  but  the  present 
moment  in  which  to  do  this  act;    to-morrow  it  will   be  too 

late.'' 

The   Convention   was  angered,  not  confounded,   by  (his 


310  LOVE     AND    LIBERT* 

language.  The  Minister  of  Justice  was  charged  to  inform 
the  Citizen  Louis  that  he  could  see  the  priest  whom  he  had 
named,  and  that  he  could  see  his  family  without  any  interfer- 
ence by  his  gaolers, — but  that  on  the  morrow  he  must  die. 

The  King  accepted  the  decision  without  a  murmur ;  for 
he  did  not  so  much  battle  for  those  days'  longer  life,  as  ask 
for  a  few  hours'  pause  between  life  and  eternity. 

He  asked  Malsherbes  to  seek  the  priest. 

"  'Tis  a  strange  request  to  make  to  one  of  the  school  of 
philosophers,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  I  have  always 
preserved  my  faith  as  a  curb  on  my  power  as  a  King.  As  a 
consolation  in  mine  adversity,  I  have  proved  it  in  the  depths 
of  my  prison ;  and  if  ever  you  should  be  sentenced  to  a 
death  similar  to  mine,  I  trust  you  may  find  the  same  solace 
in  your  last  moments." 

The  Abbe  Edgeworth  and  the  ex-King  were  old  and  fast 
friends.  The  priest  did  not  hesitate  a  moment,  and  at  once 
hastened  to  the  prison,  albeit  he  knew  that  the  probability 
was  that  he  would  never  be  free  again. 

Abbot  Edgeworth  was  taken  from  his  obscure  lodging,  in 
the  first  place,  to  the  Convention,  where  many  of  the  mem- 
bers made  a  demonstration  in  admiration  of  his  courage  ; 
for,  by  this  time,  to  be  a  priest  was  to  be  in  danger  of 
death. 

With  the  fall  of  the  King's  head,  the  utter  Reign  of  Ter- 
ror was  to  commence. 

Garat,  while  in  his  carriage,  conveying  the  Abbot  to  the 
Temple,  broke  out  into  admiration  of  the  King. 

"  Great  heavens ! "  he  cried,  "  with  what  a  terrible 
mission  am  I  not  charged  !  What  a  man  is  this  Louis 
XVI — what  resignation  he  shows,  and  what  courage !  No 
mere  human  strength  could  give  such  force  ;  in  this  there  is 
something  of  the  supernatural." 

The  priest  remained  silent ;  he  hesitated  to  betray  him- 
self. 

Not  a  word  more  was  said  up  to  the  moment  when 
the  carriage  stopped  at  the  Temple. 

The  Abbe  remarked  that  the  first  room  through  which 
they  passed  was  filled  with  armed  men.  Thence  they 
passed  to  .a  larger  apartment,  which  the  Abbe  saw  had 
been  a  chapel ;  but  the  signs  of  religion  had  been  swept 
away — the  altar  was  broken  in  pieces. 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  311 

Here  the  Abbe  was  seached  for  weapons  by  a  number 
of  rough  men,  while  the  minister  passed  up  into  the  King's 
.cell. 

When  the  Abbe  followed  him,  the  old  man  fell  at  the 
King's  feet,  and  burst  into  tears,  with  which  the  Kirjg  min- 
gled his  own. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Louis,  raising  him,  "this  is  incWd 
weakness  !  I  have  so  long  lived  amongst  my  enemies,  that 
1  have  grown  to  think  little  of  their  hatred,  and  my  heart 
has  grown  hard  and  callous.  But  the  sight  of  an  old  friend 
restores  to  me  that  tenderness  which  I  thought  was  long 
since  dead,  and  I  weep  in  spite  of  1113'  will  to  be  unmoved." 

Then,  taking  the  priest  by  the  hand,  he  drew  him  into  the 
little  turret  which  served  him  for  a  studio.  In  this  room, 
all  that  was  to  be  found  consisted  of  a  couple  of  chairs,  a 
small  earthenware   stove,  a  few  books,  and  an  ivory  crucifix. 

"  1  have,"  said  he  to  the  Abbe,  "  arrived  at  that  moment 
in  my  life  when  I  must  earnestly  seek  to  make  my  peace 
with  heaven,  so  that  1  may  humbly  hope  to  pass  from  a 
weary  life  to  one  of  peace  and  quietude." 

"With  these  words,  he  produced  his  will,  and  read  it  over 
twice  to  the  Abbe,  electing  him  as  his  judge  in  this  final 
act  of  life.  He  feared  that,  in  the  very  act  of  pardoning  his 
enemies,  he  might  accuse  them,  and  he  was  specially  desirous 
that  au3T  appearance  of  this  nature  should  be  avoided. 

His  voice  only  faltered  when  he  spoke  of  the  Queen,  his 
sister,  and  his  children.  He  lived  now  only  in  the  love  he 
had  for  his  family ;  apart  from  them,  he  had  resigned  all 
thoughts  of  life. 

A  calm  conversation  ensued.  The  King  inquired  after 
many  old  friends;  speaking,  not  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
is  vanishing  into  death,  but  with  the  appearance  of  a  man 
who,  after  absence,  asks  eagerly  for  those  he  loved  and  left 
behind. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  away,  and  still  the  Abbe  waited 
for  the  King  to  give  an  intimation  that  he  wished  to  pray 
with  the  minister. 

At  seven,  he  was  to  have  his  last  interview  with  his  fam- 
ily ;  and  as  this  moment  approached,  he  appeared  to  dread 
it  far  more  than  the  thought  of  the  scaffold. 

He  was  unwilling  that  so  great  an  agony  as  this  parting 
must  necessarily  be,  should   trouble  the    calmness  of  his 


312  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

death,  which,  obviously,  he  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a 
sacrifice. 

The  Queen  and  princesses  had  the  news  by  this  time,  for 
the  street  criers  bawled  the  fact  of  the  next  day's  execution 
of  the  King  under  the  very  windows  of  the  Temple  tower. 
All  hope  was  dead  ;  and  the  only  sentiment  which  swayed 
them  was  this  :  would'  the  King  be  prevented  from  taking 
a  last  good-bye — would  he  be  prevented  from  kissing  them, 
and  blessing  them,  before  he  went  forth  to  die  ? 

One  last  word — one  last  kiss  ! — this  was  now  the  bound- 
ary of  the  wishes  of  the  once  brilliant  Marie  Antoinette, 
one  of  the  proudest  princesses,  and,  as  a  wife,  one  of  the 
greatest  martyrs,  the  world  has  j'et  seen. 

At  last  the  members  of  his  family  were  told  that  they 
were  to  see  the  King  prior  to  his  execution.  And  this  was 
their  joy  in  the  midst  of  a  desolation  from  which  their  only 
relief  was  death  itself. 

The  poor  creatures  prepared  for  this  interview  hours  he- 
fore  it  could  take  place.  They  asked  incessantly  of  their 
gaoler  if  it  was  time  for  the  King's  arrival,  and  bore 
patiently  with  the  rough,  rude  answer  only  too  frequently 
bestowed  upon  them. 

The  King  himself,  though  apparently  more  calm,  was 
equally  agitated.  He  had  never  experienced  but  one  affec- 
tion— that  for  his  wife;  but  one  friendship — his  sister's; 
hut  one  joy — his  children.  The  cares  of  the  throne  may 
have  hidden  much  of  these  qualities,  but  never  extinguish- 
ed them ;  and,  in  his  adversity,  they  had  flowed  back  in 
the  shape  of  a  wealth  of  consolation. 

Nevertheless,  the  King's  calmness,  almost  callousness,  ap- 
pears amazing  in  its  contemplation.  Re-entering  the  ordi- 
nary room,  or  cell,  in  which  he  passed  his  imprisoned  days, 
he  began  to  set  in  order  to  receive  the  Queen. 

"  Bring  some  water,  and  a  glass." 

Clery  pointed  to  a  carafle  standing  on  the  table. 

"No,"  said  the  King;  "it  is  iced;  and  I  fear,  if  the 
Queen  drinks  it,  that  it  may  disagree  with  her." 

The  door,  at  last,  was  thrown  open,  and  the  Queen,  lead- 
ing her  son,  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  was  about  to 
lead  him  to  her  chamber. 

"  No,  no,"  whispered  the  King ;  "  I  may  only  see  you 
here." 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  313 

Madame  Elizabeth  followed,  leading  the  Princess  Royal. 

Clery  closed  the  dour  upon  the  Jamil}'  ;  and,  for  the  first 
and  last  time  since  their  return  to  Paris  from  Varennes, 
they  were  unwatched.  The  King  was  almost  dead,  and 
dead  men  can  do  no  harm,  even  to  revolutionary  authori- 
ties. 

The  King  gently  forced  his  wife  to  sit  on  his  right,  while 
his  sister  he  placed  on  his  left ;  and,  as  he  sat  down  between 
them,  they  put  each  an  arm  about  his  neck,  and  laid  their 
beads  above  the  heart  which,  in  a  few  hours,  was  to  cease 
beating.  The  Dauphin  was  on  his  father's  knee,  while  the 
little  daughter's  head  lay  in  her  father's  lap. 

It  is  said  that  for  more  than  half-an-hour  not  a  word  was 
spoken  ;  but  the  sudden  bursts  of  grief,  and  especially  the 
Queen's  frantic,  terrific  screams,  were  heard  not  only 
throughout  the  prison,  but  positively  in  many  of  the 
streets  adjacent  to  the  gaol. 

Yet  nature  is  very  good,  and  enables  us  to  bear  our  trials 
by  the  force  of  physical  weakness.  But  soon,  indeed,  the 
miserable  family,  their  e}'es  exhausted  of  tears,  were  able 
to  talk  in  low  whispers,  to  console  each  other,  and  to  give 
each  other  many  agonized  last  embraces*  This  dread  agony 
laser!  through  an  hour  and  a  half.  The  ex-royal  family 
had  been  together  two  hours. 

Of  those  five  unhappy  people,  only  the  little  Princess, 
aged  seven  or  eight,  lived  to  tell  in  after  years,  what  hap- 
pened at  that  interview.  They  confided  to  each  other  what 
they  had  thought  about  during  their  separation ;  repeated 
promises  over  and  over  again  to  forget  and  forgive  all  their 
enemies,  should  either  of  them  ever  come  to  power  ;  and, 
finally,  sublime  prayers,  offered  by  the  King,  to  the  effect 
that  he  trusted  his  death  might  cause  the  nation  the  loss 
of  not  one  drop  of  blood.  The  directions  he  gave  his  son 
(so  soon  to  follow  him  into  the  grave)  were  not  royal,  but, 
better,  they  were  Christian. 

Those  who  listened — miserable  creatures — heard  only  a 
low,  sweet  murmur. 

At  last  the  King  rose. 

The  moment  had  arrived. 

The  Queen  threw  herself  at  the  King's  feet,  and  entreat- 
ed him  to  allow  her  and  her  children  to  remain  with  him 
all  night.      This  request,  in   mercy,  he  would  not  grant; 


314  love;    and    libekty. 

but  warded  off  the  request  by  gently  intimating  that  he 
must  have  some  hours'  tranquillity,  in  which  to  gain 
strength  to  die  fittingly. 

He,  however,  promised  his  family  that  they  should  see 
him  at  eight  in  the  morning. 

"  Why  not  at  seven  ?  "  asked  the  Queen. 

"Very  well — at  seven,"  he  replied. 

"You  promise  ?  "  cried  the  women  and  children. 

He  then  led  them  to  the  door — they  uttering  louder  cries 
as  he  did  so. 

"Adieu,  adieu!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  equally  yearning 
after  passing-away  love,  and  an  expression  of  hope  in  the 
future. 

The  poor  little  Princess  here  fell  inanimate  at  her  father's 
feet.  The  attention  the  Queen  now  gave  the  child  amelior- 
ated the  agony  of  that  parting. 

The  King  availed  himself  of  the  heart-rending  event  to 
turn  away.  He  closed  the  door,  and  the  agony  of  royalty 
was  ended. 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  entering  the  turret,  where  the  Abbe 
Edgeworth  was  awaiting  him,  "  what  a  scene  !  Alas!  why 
do  I  love  so  deepl}- — why  am  I  so  deeply  loved  ?" 

He  paused  for  a  few  moments ;  then  he  added,  "  But  I 
have  done  w7ith  to-day — let  me  prepare  for  eternity." 

At  this  point  Clery  appeared,  and  asked  the  King  to 
take  some  refreshment.  Louis  refused  at  first ;  but  even 
at  that  ghastly  pass  his  appetite  asserted  itself,  and  he  ate 
and  drank  during  five  minutes — only  bread  and  wine  ;  and 
this  he  did  standing,  after  the  manner  of  a  traveller  hur- 
rying on  a  journey. 

The  priest  now  asked  the  King  if  he  would  like  early  in 
the  morning  to  communicate. 

The  King  turned,  and  a  last  look  of  pleasure  shone  upon 
his  face.  He  was  essentially  a  religious  man,  but  he  had 
despaired  of  being  permitted  to  take  the  communion,  for 
the  Convention,  amongst  other  things,  had  abolished  the 
theory  and  practice  of  the  Lord's  Supper. 

The  Abbe  therefore  sought  the  commissaries  on  duty, 
and  asked  for  the  necessary  articles,  without  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  Roman  Church,  the  ceremony  of  the  communion 
cannot  be  effected. 

The  gaol  authorities  were  excessively  confused.     On  the 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  315 

one  hand,  they  were  ashamed  to  refuse  this  consolation  to 
a  dj'ing  man  ;  on  the  other,  the  constitution  of  the  coun- 
try then  held  that  this  helief  in  transuhstantiation,  or  the 
passage  of  the  bread  and  wine  into  the  actual  body  and 
blood  of  Christ  at  their  raising,  was  a  superstition. 

"  And  if  we  give  you  permission,"  cried  one  of  the  lead- 
ing men,  "  how  do  we  know  you  will  not  cheat  the  scaffold  of 
his  blood  by  poisoning  him  with  the  holy  wafer?  It  is 
well  known  to  us  that  certain  kings  have  been  poisoned  in 
the  holy  wafer,  given  to  them  as  the  very  blood  of  the 
Redeemer." 

"  I  can  set  that  doubt  at  rest,"  said  the  Abbe.  "  You 
can  yourselves  supply  me  with  both  bread  and  wine." 

The  hope  of  "communicating"  elevated  the  dying  King 
almost  to  ecstasy.  He  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  until  far 
into  the  night  recited  the  simple,  almost  innocent,  sins  of 
which  he  had  been  guilty.  A  very  innocent  and  simple- 
hearted  man,  the  list  could  not  have  been  formidable. 

Then  he  lay  down,  and  fell  asleep,  as  calmly  as  a  little 
child — as  though  that  final  night  was  to  be  succeeded  by  a 
long  and  peaceful  morrow. 


CHAPTER  LIU. 

THE     SACRIFICE    OF    BLOOD. 


The  Abbe,  meanwhile,  prayed  unceasingly  in  an  outer 
chamber,  and  separated  only  from  the  King's  by  a  wooden 
partition. 

He  and  Clery,  the  recently-appointed  but  faithful  attend- 
ant on  the  King,  heard  the  condemned  man's  breath  regu- 
lar and  peaceful,  uninterrupted  by  cries  or  restlessness. 
His  heart  beat  regularly,  with  no  more  fear  than  is  experi- 
enced by  clockwork  which  has  nearly  run  down,  and  is 
about  to  stop. 

At  five,  it  was  necessary  to  awaken  the  King. 

"Has  it  struck  five  ?  "  'he  inquired,  of  Clery. 

"  Not  yet,  by  the  town  clock,"  the  man  replied  "  but 
several  bells  have  sounded  the  hour." 


316  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

"  I  have  slept  heartily,"  remarked  the  Ring;  'I  suppose 
because,  yesterday,  I  was  very  much  fatigued." 

Clery  now  lighted  the  fire,  and  helped  his  dying  master 
to  dress. 

The  King  "communicated,"  the  altar  being  raised  in 
the  room  in  which  he  usually  sat. 

He  took  the  substantiated,  or,  rather,  consecrated,  bread, 
with  awful  gravity,  but  with  utter  calmness. 

While  the  priest  was  disrobing,  the  King  retired  to  the 
little  turret;  and  here,  being  joined  by  Clery,  the  good  ser- 
vant knelt,  and  requested  the  King's  blessing. 

Louis  XVI  raised  his  hand,  and  desired  him  to  convey 
that  blessing,  through  himself,  to  all  who  loved  their  King, 
and  especially  to  those  of  his  gaolers  who  had  shown  to  the 
royal  family  anything  like  pity  or  kindness. 

Then,  leading  the  valet  to  the  window,  he  gave  him,  so 
that  those  watching  through  the  glass  of  the  doors  should 
not  see  the  act,  a  seal,  which  he  had  detached  from  his 
watch,  a  small  parcel,  taken  from  his  bosom,  and  the 
wedding-ring  with  which,  at  their  royal  marriage,  the 
Queen  had  pledged  her  faith  to  him.  This  ring  he  took 
from  the  hand  upon  which  he  had  worn  it  since  placed  there 
at  his  marriage. 

"  When  I  am  dead,"  he  said,  "you  will  give  this  seal  to 
my  son,  and  this  ring  to  the  Queen.  Tell  her  that  I  give 
it  up  with  great  pain,  and  onty  because  I  do  not  will  that  it 
should  share  in  the  profanity  to  which,  of  course,  my  body 
will  be  subjected.  And  this  little  parcel  has  in  it  locks  of 
the  hair  of  all  my  family.  Give  it,  also,  to  my  lady.  Say 
to  the  Queen,  and  to  my  most  dear  children,  and  to  my 
sister,  that  though  I  promised  to  see  them  this  morning,  I 
meant  to  spare  them  the  grief  of  another  bitter  separation. 
It  costs  me  more  than  I  can  describe,  to  go  without  kiss- 
ing them  again  !" 

Here  he  wept,  for  the  last  time  in  his  life,  it  being  one  of 
the  very  few  occasions  when  he  was  moved  to  tears. 

"  I  give  to  you,"  he  added,  in  a  sweet,  low,  suppressed 
voice, — "  I  give  to  you  my  last  farewell,  to  take  to  those  I 
love  !  " 

Clery  retired,  weeping,  though  his  tears  were  an  evidence 
against  him  which  might  cost  him  his  life. 

A  moment  passed,  and  the  King,  leaving  the  little  room, 
asked  one  of  the  gaolers  for  a  pair  of  scissors. 


LOVE    AND    LIBEKTY.  317 

"What  for,  citizen?" 

"I  wish  the  Citizen  Clery  to  cut  off  my  hair;  it  is  the 
only  legacy  I  have  to  leave  my  family." 

"  ?Tis  well,"  said  the  gaol<  r. 

And  Clery  performed  this  ghastly  office. 

Clery,  turning  to  the  commissaires,  said,  "And  now, 
citizens,  I  beg  that  I  may  be  allowed  to  accompany  the 
Citizen  Louis  Capet" — he  dared  not  call  him  King;  to 
do  so  would  have  teriiiined  his  own  life — "  to  the  scaffold. 
I  seek  permission  to  perform  this  last  office,  and  that  it 
may  not  be  left  to  the  executioner." 

"  Bah  !  The  executioner  is  good  enough  ioxhim  !  "  cried 
one  of  the  more  influential  commissaires. 

The  King  turned  away. 

The  Abbe,  following  him  some  moments  afterwards, 
found  the  King  calmly  warming  himself  near  the  stove, 
and  evidently  contemplating  his  approaching  end  with  a 
certain  calm  joy  which  was  to  be  envied  by  very  many  of 
those  who  had  condemned  him. 

"Good  heavens  !"  he  cried,  "how  glad  I  am  that  while 
on  the  throne,  I  maintained  my  faith  in  the  Eternal  ! 
What  now  would  be  my  sufferings,  if  I  had  not  steadfast 
hope  in  the  world  to  come  !  Oh,  yes  ;  above  there  is  a 
Judge  of  courage,  who  cannot  be  influenced  or  threatened 
— who  will  judge  me  honestly,  and  accord  to  me  that 
justice  which  has  been  denied  me  in  this  world." 

The  winter  day  now  broke,  and  light  struggled  between 
the  bars  and  planks  which  combined  to  shut  out  light  from 
the  royal  prisoners,  one  of  whom  was  now  destined  soon  to 
be  free. 

The  roll  of  the  drum,  on  one  side  or  the  other  far  and 
near,  now  was  heard  ;  hurried  steps  passed ;  the  click  of 
arms  could  be  distinguished ;  and  soon  horses,  heavily 
mounted,  were  heard  beating  along  the  street. 

A  heavier  sound — cannon,  and  strongly-built  tumbrils  or 
wagons  were  heard,  taking  up  their  position  in  the  court- 
yard of  the  prison,  and  about  its  entrance. 

The  King,  true  to  the  last  to  his  marvellous  character — 
which  his  friends  describe,  as  one  not  to  be  swayed  by  pas- 
sion, which  his  enemies  analyzed  to  be  one  of  callousness 
and  incapability  of  feeling,  not  only  with  regard  to  others, 
but  even  for  himself — the  King  commented  on  these  sounds, 


318  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

not  as  though  they  affected  him  and  his  life,  hut  as  though 
they  were  an  agreeable  puzzle  he  was  putting  together. 

"  'Tis  probably  the  National  Guard  assembling,"  he 
said,  in  a  half  curious  voice,  to  the  still  praying  Abbe, 
when  the  first  roll  of  the  drum  swept  through  the  cold 
morning  air. 

A  few  moments  passed,  and  the  trampling  of  horses' 
hoofs  at  the  foot  of  the  tower  attracted  his  attention. 
Then  followed  the  voices  of  officers,  giving  military  direc- 
tions. 

"  They  are  come,"  he  said. 

He  spoke  without  impatience  or  fear,  after  the  manner 
of  a  friend  quietly  waiting  for  a  friend,  and  at  last  hearing 
the  amicable  step  upon  the  stair. 

And  now  the  King:s  last  torture — not  his  execution,  for 
that  was  in  mercy  extended  to  him — commenced. 

Through  two  long  hours  was  this  poor  man  tortured  by 
a  refinement  of  cruelty  for  which  there  can  he  found  no 
extenuation,  to  which  no  parallel  can  be  discovered. 

Through  these  two  hours  came  frequent  summonses  at 
the  door.  Upon  each  occasion  the  King  rose,  ready.  'Up- 
on each  occasion  some  poor,  petty  excuse  was  made.  He 
himself  (the  King)  opened  the  door,  answered  the  wretch 
and  coward  who  tortured  him,  bowed  eivilly  when  he  learnt 
his  presence  was  not  required,  and  closing  the  door,  wraited 
until  a  fresh  summons  beat  upon  his  heart.. 

Ah,  posterit}T  cannot  forgive  those  acts !  Long  must  the 
question  remain  unsettled  whether  or  not  Louis  XVI  was 
rightfully  put  to  death.  Possibly  he  but  paid  the  debt  his 
ancestors  had  incurred.  Millions  had  died  of  starvation. 
Taxes  annihilated  industry  through  generations  previous 
to  the  uprising  of  the  people.  Even  salt  wras  weighted 
with  a  tax  which  caused  it  to  be  sold  at  an  enormous  rate 
— thirty  pence  a  pound.  Finally,  Louis  may  have  been 
guilty,  as  a  man  who  was  false  to  his  oaths  to  keep  the 
land  of  France  free  of  enemies,  of  calling  foreign  help  to 
France.  It  must  be  felt  that  when  his  throne  was  sinking 
from  beneath  him,  other  kings,  in  the  interests  of  thrones, 
being  desirous  of  maintaining  Louis  upon  his,  would  wil- 
lingly offer  that  foreign  aid  which  it  is  felt  Louis  had  been 
more  than  humanly  self-denying  in  refusing.  He  fell  a 
sacrifice  to  the  errors  of  the  two  Louises  who  had  preceded 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  319 

him  on  the  throne — a  hlood  compensation  for  the  waste, 
luxury,  and  sensuality  of  half  a  dozen  generations  of 
French  nobles. 

The  measure  of  the  people's  misery  being  full,  they  rose, 
and  rose  successfully.  Their  mistake — one  which  ultimate- 
ly suffocated  all  the  good  it  was  intended  they  should  effect 
— took  the  shape  of  success,  intoxicating  itself  with  victory. 

Give  a  lesson  to  kings  not  to  exceed  their  duty — yes. 
All  France  knew  that  the  English  Revolution,  which  sent 
Charles  I  to  the  block,  had  resulted  in  a  social  condition  in 
England  which  offered  an  example  for  France  to  follow. 

But  having  once  passed  upon  a  man  the  dignity  of 
approaching  death  ;  having  thrown  round  him  the  darkness 
of  the  coming  tomb — to  orush  his  heart — to  humiliate  him 
— to  embitter  his  last  moments — to  play  with  his  life  as  a 
cat  with  a  poor,  palpitating  mouse — to  try  to  resuscitate 
the  desire  to  live — to  seek  to  change  the  calmness  of  resig- 
nation back  into  the  whirlpool  of  despair — these  are  not 
the  acts  of  men,  but  demons. 

Yet  let  not  these  acts  be  set  down  to  the  people.  In 
times  of  trouble,  all  the  scum  boils  to  the  surface,  and  it  is 
the  surface  we  see,  not  the  clarified  water  below  it.  Few, 
very  few  men  completed  the  murders  of  September;  seven- 
eighths  of  all  France  knew  nothing  about  these  wholesale 
murders  until  they  were  achieved. 

But  the  miserable  attempt  to  torture  the  King's  last 
hour  upon  earth  failed  utterly — he  was  beyond  attack. 
His  soul  had  already  passed  away. 

At  nine  o'clock  there  was  a  tumultuous  noise  upon  the 
staircase,  and  now  there  was  a  summons  at  the  door.  It 
was  thrown  open. 

As  far  as  the  King's  eyes  could  stretch  were  armed  men 
— all  gazing  towards  Louis. 

Santerre  appeared,  attended  by  twelve  municipals,  and 
ten  gendarmes,  all  of  whom  fell  into  two  lines  in  the  apart- 
ment. 

The  King  turned  to  the  little  turret  door,  and  with  his 
hand  upon  it,  looked  towards  Santerre. 

In  this  final  moment  all  the  reserve  and  imperiousness 
of  a  prince  returned  to  Louis  XVI. 

"  You  are  come  for  me,"  he  said.  "  Await  me — and 
for  a  mere  moment." 


320  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

He  paused,  closed  the  door,  and  knelt  at  the  minister's 
feet. 

"  It  is  finished,"  he  said.     "  Bless  me,  and  let  me  go." 

A  moment,  and  he  rose,  came  out,  placed  himself  smil- 
ingly between  the  double  row  of  armed  men.  In  his  hand 
was  a  paper.  It  was  his  will.  Addressing  himself  to  the 
man  who  appeared  to  be  the  chief  of  the  squad,  he  said, 
"  I  pray  you  to  give  this  letter  to  the  Queen." 

The  Republicans  started,  and  the  act  reminded  the  King 
of  the  error  he  had  committed. 

"  To  my  wife,"  he  said,  correcting  himself,  to  please  the 
Republican  ears. 

"It's  no  affair  of  mine,"  replied  the  man  addressed,  and 
in  savage  tones.  "  I'm  not  here  to  carry  messages  to  your 
wife,  but  to  take  j'ou  to  the  scaffold." 

This  unhappy  creature,  one  Jacques  Roux,  had  actually 
been  a  priest,  who  had  thrown  off  the  cassock  and  joined 
the  revolutionary  army. 

"  True,"  said  the  King,  his  head  falling. 

But  the  name  of  a  man  in  those  ranks  was  to  be  made 
illustrious  amongst  pitying  and  tender-hearted  men.  The 
King,  looking  up,  glanced  rapidly  along  the  two  lines  of 
faces  to  find  one  pitying  look.  His  eyes  rested  upon  one 
Gobeau,  a  man  with  a  frightful  name,  but  possessed  of  a 
far  better  heart. 

"  I  pra}T  }Tou  give  this  paper  to  my  wife." 

Gobeau  hesitated,  and  looked  from  the  King  to  his  com- 
rades, from  his  comrades  back  to  Louis. 

"  You  may  read  it — if  you  will.  'Tis  but  my  wishes, 
which  I  trust  the  Commune  may  read." 

The  man  Gobeau  asked  the  consent  of  his  comrades,  and 
then  took  the  paper. 

The  morning  was  very  cold,  and  to  complete  the  resem- 
blance between  the  fates  of  the  two  beheaded  Kings, 
Charles  I  of  England,  and  Louis  XVI  of  France,  exactly 
as  Charles's  valet  put  a  cloak  round  his  master,  so  that  he 
should  not  appear  to  tremble  at  the  scaffold,  so  Clery, 
knowing  nothing  of  the  parallel,  put  a  cloak  about  his  mas- 
ter. 

Both  kings  were  beheaded  towards  the  end  of  January. 

"  I  do  not  require  a  cloak,"  he  said.  "  Give  me  my 
hat." 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  321 

As  he  took  it,  he  shook  the  faithful  Clery's  hand.  Then, 
turning  to  Santerre,  and  looking  him  full  in  the  face,  he 
said,  "  1  am  ready." 

Santerre  and  Ills  troop  rather  followed  than  escorted  him. 

The  King  passed  down  the  staircase  slowly,  and  without 
any  signs  of  tremor.  Now,  it  is  in  descending  a  staircase 
that  a  man,  convulsed  by  agitation,  is  almost  sure  to 
stumble. 

The  King  did  not  make  one  false  step. 

Beaching  the  foot  of  the  steps,  the  King  encountered 
one  Mathey. 

"Citizen  Mathey,"  said  Louis,  "j'ou  offended  me  very 
cruelly  last  night,  and  1  replied  angrily.  For  the  sake  of 
this  hour,  pray  pardon  me." 

Mathey,  instead  of  replying,  pretended  to  turn  his  head 
away,  and  not  see  the  King.  However,  it  is  only  just  to 
say,  in  some  extenualion  of  the  brutality  of  most  of  those 
to  whom  the  King  addressed  himself  during  the  last  hour 
of  his  existence,  that  death  was  now  so  quickly  dealt  to 
any  man  whose  words  could  be  twisted  into  an  expression 
of  even  pity  for  fallen  royalty,  that  it  was  only  at  the  risk 
of  exposing  life  that  a  man  could  be  humane  in  an  answer 
to  any  question  addressed  to  him  by  any  one  of  the  royal 
family. 

The  King  was  now  crossing  the  court-yard.  He  had 
achieved  half  the  distance  before  his  heart  failed  him  ;  and, 
turning  yearningly,  he  looked  towards  the  tower  within 
which  the  Queen  was  confined.  A  moment,  and  his  face 
was  towards  the  people  glaring  in  at  the  gate.  Once  more 
he  looked,  as  he  passed  out  of  the  court-yard;  then  he, 
death,  and  eternity  were  alone  ! 

A  carriage  awaited  him,  an  armed  man  standing  each 
side  the  door.  One  of  these  men  entered  the  carriage,  and 
took  a  front  seat ;  the  King  followed,  and  took  the  place  of 
honor — the  right,  facing  the  horses.  The  Abbe  Edgeworth 
followed,  and  sat  beside  Louis.  The  second  gendarme  now 
entered,  and  slammed  and  fastened  the  door,  and  the  carri- 
age was  at  once  started. 

Sixty  drums  lead  the  way,  incessantly  sounding,  and  a 
mass  of  armed  men  surrounded  the  victim. 

The  reign  of  terror  had  begun,  in  truth.     A  Governmen- 
tal order  had  been  issued,  forbidding  any  citizen  to  show 
20 


322  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

himself  at  a  window ;  and  the  infraction  of  such  an  order 
was,  in  itself,  probably  a  condemnation  to  death.  The 
citizens  were  also  forbidden  to  cross  any  of  the  streets  upon 
the  line  of  march. 

A  strange  effect  was  this  procession. 

The  morning  was  lowering,  cold,  dead,  and  damp;  and 
the  noisy  sixty  drums,  purposely  used  to  drown  any  cry 
that  might  be  raised,  led  the  way  for  a  hurried,  half- 
disciplined,  half-armed  horde  of  armed  men  ;  in  their  midst, 
a  carriage,  half-rilled  with  two  such  as  those  who  formed 
the  escort. 

And  this  procession  marched  through  a  double  row  of 
steel — of  pikes  and  bayonets,  held  by  silent  men.  At  dis- 
tances were  squads  of  the  regulars,  armed  and  prepared  as 
for  an  action  in  the  field. 

A  strange  sight !  Thousands  of  armed  men — soldiers 
■with  cannon  and  musket,  prepared  against  a  numerous  foe  ; 
a  swiftly  passing  crowd  of  men,  armed  to  the  teeth,  jealous- 
ly guarding  a  carriage  half-filled  with  two  such  as  they 
themselves  were, — all  against — what  ? 

Sixty  drums  beating  to  drown — utter  silence !  Two 
hundred  thousand  men,  to  keep  order  amongst — space! 
Armed  men- — and  that  was  all  ! 

On  the  line,  not  a  human  being  to  be  seen  bej'ond  the 
serried  lines  of  armed  men.  Not  a  woman's  form  for  the 
ej-e  to  rest  on — every  window  blind,  every  street  passed,  a 
desert.  Paris  was  a  city  of  the  dead.  Even  the  market- 
places were  silent,  and  not  even  the  voice  of  a  child  was  to- 
be  heard. 

Cannon  gaped  at  every  street  corner,  the  artillerymen 
holding  lighted  matches  ;  in  a  word,  on  all  sides  were  to  be 
seen  evidences  of  preparations  to  meet  a  formidable  enemy 
— on  not  one  was  the  shadow  of  an  enemy  to  be  seen. 

The  King  could,  scarcely  be  perceived  though  the  forest 
of  steel  in  which  he  was  lost.  He  wore  a  brown  coat  and 
a  white  waistcoat.  His  hair  was  raised  up  already  for  the 
executioner's  hands. 

So  great  was  the  noise  created  by  the  drums,  that  he 
could  not  hear  what  the  Abbe  Edgeworth  said,  or  even 
what  he  himself  said  to  that  self-devoted  gentleman. 

Therefore  he  took  the  minister's  breviary,  and  opened  it 
at  those  particular  pslams  which  he  had  learnt  in  his  cap- 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  823 

tivity,  suited  to  his  situation.    These  he  began  to  recite  while 
the  priest  prayed  beside  him. 

It  is  said  the  expression  of  the  two  men-at-arms  were 
those  of  astonishment  and  admiration. 

All  these  warlike  preparations  were  met  by  the  opposition 
of  seven  or  eight  opponents. 

The  procession  moved  from  the  Temple  up  to  the  boule- 
vards, the  line  of  which  was  kept  by  the  procession,  until 
it  reached  the  place  of  execution,  on  that  spot  which  is  now 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  At  thai  point  on  the  line  of 
March  which  now  lies  between  the  Fortes  St.  Denis  and  St. 
Martin,  occurred  the  one  sign  of  any  opposition  to  the 
tragedy  which  was  about  to  be  completed. 

There  was  a  sudden  stir;  and,  suddenly,  seven  or  eight 
young  men,  sword  in  hand,  rushed  from  the  Rue  Beaure- 
gard, dashed  forward  through  the  line  of  armed  men,  and 
even  reached  the  carriage,  they  crying,  "Help,  help,  those 
who  would  save  the  King!" 

The  leader  of  these  frantically-daring  young  men  was  one 
Baron  de  Batz,  a  man  of  extremely  adventurous  tendencies. 
Chiefly  by  his  means,  three  thousand  young  men  had  com- 
bined to  effect  this  diversion  in  the  King's  favor,  and  they 
were  to  respond  to  the  call  to  arms  led  by  Batz. 

The  three  thousand  made  no  reply  ;  the  seven  or  eight 
devoted  men  stood  alone  in  the  midst  of  nearly  a  quarter 
of  a  million  of  armed  enemies. 

But  some  mercy  was  shown  them,  for  those  about  them 
did  not  massacre  the  youths, — they  were  all  very  young. 
They  even  escaped  into  a  side  street;  but  here  they  were 
fallen  upon  by  a  squad  of  gendarmes,  rapidly  told  off  for 
that  purpose;  and  being  caught  sword-in-hand,  they  were 
shot  down,  and  left  where  they  fell. 


«  »«—  » 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

EXECUTION    OE   LOUIS    XVI. 


As  the  Place  de  la  Revolution,  the  place  of  execution, 
came  in  view,  a  ray  of  sunshine  fell  upon  the  guillotine — 


p24  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

one  of  those  coincidences  which  the  superstitious  and  the 
wonder-loving  remember  and  treasure  up. 

This  open  space  was  filled  with  a  hundred  thousand  of 
the  lowest  rabble;  soldiers  thick  about  the  scaffold;  and 
high  above  the  people  stood  a  something,  the  woodwork  of 
which  was  painted  a  blood-color. 

This  was  the  guillotine! 

The  guillotine  had  only  just  been  introduced.  It  had 
been  invented  in  Italy,  and  imported  into  France  by  a 
humane  doctor,  named  Guillotin,  whose  name  was  cruelly 
taken  and  applied  to  the  machine,  an  "  e  "  being  added  to 
make  it  feminine — for,  according  to  the  custom  of  most 
men  in  most  times,  a  something  terrible  and  merciless  is 
always  feminine.  If  the  women  had  the  naming,  perhaps 
the  other  gender  would  as  frequently  be  applied  to  things 
of  terror. 

The  guillotine  was  essentially  a  humane  invention. 
Previous  to  its  introduction,  the  condemned  man  knelt 
down  and  placed  his  head  on  a  block.  A  headsman  then 
with  an  axe  endeavored  to  sever  the  head  from  the  body. 
The  least  swaying  on  his  part,  and  instead  of  death,  a 
wound  was  the  result.  Often  an  executioner,  unnerved  by 
the  failure  of  his  first  blow,  would  hack  and  chop  many 
times  before  the  victim  ceased  to  show  signs  of  life,  and 
before  the  head  was  off  the  body. 

The  guillotine  exactly  fell  in  with  the  views  of  the 
equallist  Republicans,  for  they  objected  to  the  executioner, 
because  it  was  a  disgrace  to  a  man  to  be  an  executioner. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  guillotine,  consisting  of  a  heavy, 
razor-like  knife,  which  worked  in  grooves,  and  fell  upon  a 
neck  irrevocably  placed  below  the  knife,  the  head  was 
separated  at  a  blow,  in  a  moment,  and  death  achieved  with 
the  least  possible  cruelty. 

But  if  the  guillotine  was  merciful — and  of  this  there 
can  be  no  doubt — on  the  other  hand-^it  may  be  questioned 
if  so  many  people  would  have  been  condemned  to  death 
during  the  Reign  of  Terror  if  the  old  slow  mode  of  decap- 
itation had  remained. 

¥>y  a  singular  fatality  the  head  of  Guillotin  himself  was 
taken  off  by  the  very  instrument  he  had  introduced  from 
Italy  into  France. 

All  the  vagabondage  of  Paris  was  present  at  this  execu- 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  325 

tion.  The  trees  bent  under  the  masses  of  people  who  had 
climbed  into  them.  There  was  not  breathing  room,  while, 
•by  connivance  of  the  most  bloodthirsty  of  the  revolutionary 
leaders,  the  spaces  immediately  round  the  scaffold  were 
occupied  by  the  men  who  had  effected  the  massacre  of 
September. 

These  men  were  there  to  applaud. 

But  when  the  carriage  containing  the  King  drew  up  be- 
fore the  scaffold,  the  mob  was  silent — even  the  September 
men,  for  a  little  time,  held  their  peace. 

The  King  perceiving  the  carriage  stop,  looked  up,  and 
said  to  the  Abbe,  "  We  have  arrived,  I  think." 

The  minister  replied  by  a  gesture. 

One  of  the  three  brothers  Sanson,  the  three  executioners 
of  Paris,  opened  the  door. 

The  gendarmes  got  out,  whereupon  the  King,  closing  the 
door,  and  placing  his  hand  upon  the  minister,  he  said 
authoritatively  to  those  who  were  pressing  forward,  "  Gen- 
tlemen, I  recommend  this  gentleman  to  your  care.  Be 
brave  enough  to  save  him  from  insult  after  I  am  dead.  I 
charge  you  to  save  him  !  " 

No  one  replied. 

"  I  charge  you  to  save  him  !  " 

One  of  them,  more  sinister  than  the  rest,  replied. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said  ;  "  be  at  peace — we  will  save  him, 
and  let  us  hear  no  more  about  it." 

Louis  now  stepped  from  the  carnage. 

Three  executioners'  attendants  came  forward,  and  wished 
to  undress  him  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold. 

He  waved  them  back,  took  off  his  coat,  cravat,  and 
turned  down  his  shirt. 

The  executioners  again  approached  him. 

"  "What  do  you  seek  to  do  ?"  lie  asked,  angrily. 

"  Bind  you  !  "  they  said,  seizing  his  hands. 

"  Bind  me!  "  the  King  cried,  all  the  passion  of  centuries 
of  petted  and  idolized  royal  blood  rising  in  the  veins  which 
were  row  in  a  few  moments  to  be  empty.  "Never! — I 
will  not  permit  it.  Do  your  work,  but  you  shall  not  bind 
me — do  not  even  dream  of  such  a  thing  !  " 

This  man,  the  descendant  of  hundreds  of  kings,  could 
not,  even  after  recommending  his  soul  to  God,  uncrown  him- 
self.    The  Convention  might  call  him  a  citizen — but  he  had, 


326  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

as  all  kings  must,  lived  in  the  belief  of  that  half-divinity 
which  is  still  in  some  places  supposed  to  surround  a  king. 

The  executioners  had  their  duty  to  do.  Here  was  a  man 
to  be  guillotined.  Men  who  were  guillotined  had  to  be 
bound.     Then  they  must  bind  their  man. 

They  again  approached. 

A  veritable  struggle  was  about  to  commence  at  the  foot 
of  the  scaffold. 

The  King  saved  himself  from  himself  in  time.  He  re- 
membered the  dignity  of  his  death,  and  he  looked  towards 
the  Abbe. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  man  of  religion,  "  compare  yourself  to 
One  far  greater  than  yourself,  who  was  bound  with  cords, 
and  who  will  soon  welcome  you  as  a  brother." 

The  King  looked  to  heaven,  appeased,  but  the  royal  pride 
still  lingered. 

"Truly,  only  the  Divine  example  enables  me  to  bear  this 
disgrace." 

It  is  probable  this  final  demonstration,  in  his  very  ex- 
tremity, of  his  superiority  to  touch  from  common  hands, 
helped  to  harden  the  nation  against  the  life  of  the  widow. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  proved  the  first  occasion  on  which  he 
showed  the  least  sign  of  impatience  with  his  tormentors. 

"Do  as-you  will,"  he  said.  "I  will  drink  the  cup  to  the 
dregs." 

Supported  by  the  help  of  the  aged  minister,  he  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  scaffold,  and,  it  must  be  admitted,  with  signs 
of  physical  fear — the  first  he  had  yet  shown.  Possibly  this 
condition  of  body  was  chiefly  brought  about  by  the  actual 
physical  resistance  he  had  made  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder. 
But  upon  coming  to  the  level,  all  his  natural  calmness  or 
courage,  whichever  it  was,  came  to  his  aid ;  and,  stepping 
quickly  forward  across  the  platform  without  help,  he  con- 
templated the  means  of  his  death. 

Suddenly,  he  turned,  and  faced  the  people,  and  used  the 
royal  gesture  of  his  life.  It  was  quite  natural — a  habit  of 
his  life — and  testified  to  no  violent  defiance  of  his  position, 
and  of  those  who  placed  him  where  lie  stood. 

The  drummers  mechanically  obeyed. 

"People,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  was  heard  afar  off, 
even  in  the  very  confines  of  the  square, — "People,  I  die 
innocent  of  all  the  crimes  of  which  I  am  declared  guilty.  I 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  327 

forgive  those  who  send  me  to  death,  and  I  pray  God  that 
the  blood  you  are  about  to  shed  may  not  fall  upon  France." 

The  crowd  trembled — murmured. 

He  was  about  to  speak  again,  when  the  officer  of  the 
troop  gave  orders  to  the  drums  to  beat  and  the  King's  voice 
was  drowned. 

He  had  said  enough.  Nothing  could  add  to  the  majesty 
of  those  few  words.  The  agony  was  spared  him  of  learning 
who  the  man  was  that  gave  the  order  which  drowned 
his  last  words.  It  was  the  Count  d'Ctyat,  a  natural  son  of 
Louis  XV;  and  therefore  by  blood,  if  not  by  marriage,  the 
King's  uncle — Louis  XVI  being  the  grandson  of  Louis  XV. 

What  a  fate  !  His  cousin  voted  for  his  death,  and  the 
last  words  he  uttered  were  drowned  by  the  command  of  his 
uncle. 

The  condemned  man  turned  slowly  away.  As  they  fas- 
tened him  to  the  plank,  he  cast  one  look  upon  the  praying 
minister,  and  the  next  moment  the  plank  was  sinking  for- 
ward, carrying  down  Louis  of  France,  his  face  towards  the 
earth. 

Another  moment — the  time  for  the  passage  of  the  heavy 
blade — and  Louis  of  France  was  dead  ! 


CHAPTER  LV. 

"WHAT    FOLLOWS. 


I  saw  Louis  XVI  die. 

"  Go,"  said  Robespierre,    "  see  liberty    declared,    and   a 
King  proved  to  be  no  more  than  a  man." 

I  stood  amongst  those  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold. 
I  will  say  no  more  than  this — Louis  died  bravely,  and 
like  a  man.  And  I  think  the  people  were  sorry.  Of  course 
they  had  more  to  regret  before  the  Reign  of  Terror  was 
over- 
Robespierre  changed  nothing  in  his  mode  of  life  after 
he  came  to  Duplay's.  He  drank  water,  he  lived  very  tem- 
perately and  frugally,  was  always  master  of  himself.  By 
the  way,  another  of  Duplay's  daughters  coming  home,  Max- 


328  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

imilian  actually  fell  in  love  -with  her,  in  a  grave,  calm  way  ; 
and  it  was  agreed  that,  when  liberty  was  completely  ob- 
tained, and  France  was  at  peace,  that  they  should  be  mar- 
ried, live  in  a  cottage,  and  hide  away  from  the  world. 

I  hud  frequently  been  at  the  Temple  during  the  incarcer- 
ation of  the  King,  and  often  saw  various  members  of  the 
unhappy  family.  I  am  desirious  that  my  hearers  should  be- 
lieve that  the  men  who  surrounded  the  Capets  in  their  im- 
prisonment, were  no  more  good  examples  of  the  revolution- 
ary masses  than  I  am  an  angel.  A  few  hundred  ferocious 
men  rose  to  the  surface  of  the  Revolution,  and  disgraced  it. 
At  heart,  its  adherents  sought  to  make  France  happy,  and 
the  people  richer. 

But  let  me  return  to  the  course  of  events. 

There  is  very  little  known  of  what  the  widowed  Queen 
did  or  said  during  the  night  before  the  execution,  and  upon 
that  morning  itself,  beyond  the  fact  that  she  passed  from 
praj'er  to  insensibility  continuously.  The  entire  family 
seem  to  have  been  conscious,  from  the  first,  that  the  separa- 
tion with  the  King,  on  the  eve  of  the  execution,  was  final 
— that  his  promise  to  see  them  in  the  morning  was  a  pious 
fraud. 

As  the  morning  progressed,  after  she  knew  by  the  lessen- 
ing noise  of  the  drums  that  he  was  on  the  way  to  execution, 
her  great  anxiety  appeared  to  be  to  ascertain  the  exact  mo- 
ment when  he  died,  so  that  from  praying  for  him.  she  might 
entreat  his  soul  to  pray  and  plead  for  her  and  his  children. 

The  loud  cries  of  "Long  Live  the  Republic,"  and  the 
rumbling  return  of  the  cannon,  were  the  first  evidences  she 
received  that  all  was  over. 

!She  appears  from  that  time  to  have  passed  into  a  state  of 
half-unconscious  moroseness — a  condition  which  is  one  of 
the  mercies  of  nature,  and  which  only  ended  in  her  life. 

She  knew,  she  said,  that  he  would  die  like  a  man,  and 
that  was  her  consolation,  when,  with  a  cruelty  beyond 
measure,  she  was  refused  any  information  concerning  his  last 
moments. 

Clery,  the  valet,  now,  apart  from  her  family,  the  dearest 
being  to  her  in  all  the  world,  as  the  man  who  had  been  with 
the  King  during  his  last  days, — Cleiy  was  now  a  prisoner, 
and  remained  one  during  a  whole  month,  during  which  time 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  329 

he  had  not  the  faintest  approach  to  an  opportunity  to  give 
the  queen  the  King's  last  words,  or  place  in  her  keeping  the 
hair  and  ring  with  which  the  King  had  entrusted  him. 

About  these  relics  there  is  a  strange  bit  of  tender  history. 
One  Toulan  concealed  under  the  most  frantic  demonstrations 
of  Republicanism,  a  sacrificial  devotion  to  the  royal  family. 
He  feared  these  relics  would  be  wilfully  destroyed  by  some 
drunken,  ruthless  hand  ;  and  pretending  that  he  would  not 
allow  the  chance  of  their  being  delivered  to  the  Queen,  he 
insisted  on  their  being  placed  under  the  keeping  of  the 
chief  officers  of  the  Commune. 

The  Queen  asked  very  humbly  permission  to  wear  mourn- 
ing for  the  King,  and  this  was  granted,  on  condition  of  ex- 
treme parsimony  and  meanness. 

There  was  a  special  debate,  in  order  to  ohtain  the  Dau- 
phin a  few  shirts. 

The  more  merciful  men  of  the  Revolution  fully  expected 
that  the  death  of  the  King  would  be  followed  by  the  liber- 
ation of  the  Queen,  her  children,  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth. 
This  hope  being  held  out  to  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  she 
carried  the  grateful  news  to  the  Queen,  who  heard  it,  with- 
out interest,  and  returned  an  answer  almost  stupid  to  this 
good  news.  Either  she  knew  that  a  nation  who  had  not 
spared  her  husband  would  not  spare  her,  who  had  always 
been  the  least  liked  of  the  two,  or  she  did  not  care  to  live. 
Probably  the  latter  surmise  is  the  nearer  correct. 

Her  only  expression  of  resolution  took  place  when  she 
was  requested  for  her  health's  sake  to  walk  in  the  garden  of 
the  prison.  She  resolutely  refused.  She  said  she  could  not 
pass  the  door  of  the  King's  prison — could  not  put  her  feet 
upon  the  stairs  down  which  he  had  marched  to  death.  It 
was  only  at  the  end  of  six  weeks — at  the  close  of  February 
— that  she  consented,  for  the  sake  of  the  children,  who 
never  left  her  side,  to  walk  on  the  platform  at  the  top  of  the 
tower.  Here,  between  the  battlements  of  the  parapet,  she 
could  be  seen  from  the  neighboring  houses  ;  and  this  tending 
to  create  pity,  it  was  ordered  that  the  spaces  between  the 
battlements  should  be  tilled  up  with  boards — an  order  which 
pleased  the  Queen,  for  it  shut  out  from  her  sight  a  city 
which,  to  her,  appeared  a  mere  charnel-house.  This  in- 
tended petty  cruelty — which  was  a  relief — took  place  towards 
the  end  of  March. 


330  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

The  King  had  now  been  dead  ten  weeks,  and  Marie  Antoi- 
nette had  yet  to  live  six  crnel  months. 

Her  bodily  health  was  breaking,  but  she  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  this  fact.  Her  heart  was  dead.  She  was  simply 
decaying.  For  whole  nights  she  would  lie  awake,  never 
complaining,  never  showing  signs  of  weariness. 

Her  life  had  passed  into  wailing.  She  was  weary  almost 
of  the  love  of  her  children.  Upon  the  face,  and  in  her  step, 
walk,  in  every  gesture,  and  at  rest,  at  last,  or  awake,  the 
woman  appeared  to  be  pleading,  "Good  Lord,  how  long 
shall  this  endure?  '"' 

She  was  now  more  closely  watched.  The  Princess  Eliza- 
beth, at  peace,  become  essentially  a  religions  woman,  con- 
trived to  obtain  intelligence  of  what  was  happening.  One 
Hue — once  valet  to  the  King  when  in  prosperity — conveyed 
messages  through  the  friendly  Toulan  into  the  prison. 
These  messages  were  put  in  the  pipe  of  a  portable  fireplace, 
and  found  by  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  who  replied  in  letters 
written  with  sympathetic  ink,  so  that  only  those  who  knew 
how  to  treat  them  could  read  their  contents. 

These  letters  contained  minutes  of  all  that  was  doing  in 
Europe  in  the  royal  cause.  Many  promising  lines  thus 
came  to  the  prison.  The  Queen  heard  them  read,  said  a 
vacant  word  or  two,  and  sank  back  into  her  usual  condition 
of  partial  lethargy. 

She  only  came  back  to  life  when  she  heard  the  voices  of 
either  of  her  children.  Then  she  lived.  When  they  were 
silent,  she  was  dead,  though  her  heart  still  beat. 


CHAPTER  LVL 

THE    REIGN    OF    TERROR. 


The  remains  of  Louis  XVI  were  conveyed  in  a  cart  to 
the  graveyard,  flung  into  a  hole,  and  lime  cast  upon  the 
remains,  that  the  bones  might  never  be  found,  in  order  to 
be  exalted  into  relics. 

Paris  was  silent — except  for  the  voices  of  the  more  excit- 
ed of  the  Revolutionists,  who  overrun  the  city,  announcing 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  331 

the  death  of  the  tyrant,  and  proclaiming  the  advent  of  lib- 
erty. 

The  body  of  the  people  did  not  respond  to  this  enthusiasm 
■ — they  did  not  confound  punishment  with  victory.  The 
body  of  the  King  was  not  cold  before  the  people  began  ask- 
ing themselves  whether  <ir  not  a  righteous  act  had  been 
committed.  The  King's  death  left  this  problem  to  be  dis- 
cussed by  the  nation.  Many  years  have  elapsed  as  1  write, 
and  the  problem  is  still  discussed — had  the-  people  a  right 
to  kill  Louis  XVI  ? 

The  result  of  the  King's  death  upon  the  more  moderate 
Republicans,  and  upon  those  who  had  agreed  to  the  new 
constitution,  but  were  Royalists  at  heart,  were  in  some 
cases  terrible.  To  many,  this  execution  appeared  a  sacri- 
lege, which  must  bring  down  upon  the  people  who  had  com- 
mitted it  one  of  those  vengeances  in  which  heaven  demands 
for  the  spilt  blood  of  one  just  man  the  blood  of  an  entire 
people. 

Men  died  of  grief  when  they  learnt  the  awful  facts,  and 
many  more  went  mad. 

Women  cast  themselves  in  panic  from  housetops,  others 
from  the  bridges  into  the  River  Seine. 

Sisters,  wives,  and  mothers  of  the  Conventionalists,  who 
had  condemned  lovers  to  death,  shrank  from  them  as  from 
lepers. 

One  of  the  principal  judges  at  the  trial,  Michael  Lepelle- 
tier,  was  almost  immediately  stabbed  in  an  eating-house  by 
one  Paris,  a  hot-headed  Royalist,  who  escaped  only  for  a 
short  time.  Tracked,  he  shot  himself;  and  upon  the  body 
was  found  a  paper  bearing  these  words  : — 

"  I  alone  did  the  deed — let  no  other  man  be  suspected. 
I  did  not  mean  to  kill  the  wretch,  Lepelletier,  but  he  came 
in  my  way.  I  was  waiting  for  the  parricide  D'Orleans,  of 
whom  I  hoped  to  rid  the  world.  All  Frenchmen  have 
become  cowards."    . 

Three  days  after,  Lepelletier  was  publicly  buried,  after 
the  antique  Greek  mode,  and  thousands  were  squandered 
upon  this  pomp. 

Meanwhile  the  nations  were  rising  against  France, 
although  about  this  time  the  Prussians  had  been  worsted 
by  the  Trench  on  the  eastern  frontiers. 


332  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

In  England;  the  horror  produced  was  great ;  and  one 
Chauvelin  having  returned  from  London  to  Paris,  declaring 
to  the  Convention  that  the  English  masses  were  ready  to 
rise  and  massacre  the  King  (George  III)  in  his  palace,  the 
French  ambassador  at  London  was  ordered  to  leave  Eng- 
land within  twenty-four  hours. 

The  Convention  thereupon  declared  war  against  Holland 
and  England. 

Catharine  II,  of  Russia,  revoked  the  treaty  of  1786,  by 
which  the  French  were  more  favored  in  Russia,  than  other 
foreigners;  and  ordered  all  the  French  in  Russia  to  return 
to  Fiance,  who  would  not  swear  that  thej*  abhorred  revolu- 
tionary sentiments.  This  Empress  joined  the  coalition 
against  France. 

The  Convention  had  already  declared  war  against  Spain. 

And  now,  England,  Prussia,  Austria,  Russia,  and  Spain 
were  all  at  war  with  France — which  was  at  war  with  itself. 

Even  Sweden  had  declared  against  the  Republic.  Not  a 
friendly  national  face  looked  upon  France  beyond  the  boun- 
daries. 

In  mercy  to  what  was  now  to  happen  to  France,  let  it  be 
said  that,  cast  upon  her  own  resources,  the  armies  of  other 
people  advancing  upon  her  by  land,  and  by  sea,  despairing 
of  help  from  the  United  States,  which  had  not  yet  recov- 
ered the  blood  spilt  in  obtaining  her  independence,  France 
was  panic-stricken  at  the  fear  of  civil  war,  and  rashly 
sought,  by  the  most  unpardonable  acts,  to  exterminate 
this  probability  b}*  the  extermination  of  all  those  who 
were  suspected  of  favoring  Royalism. 

The  leader  of  blood  amongst  the  Conventionists,  im- 
mediately after  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI,  took  the 
hideous  form  of  Marat.  Dirty,  mean,  fetid,  disgusting  in 
look  and  action,  he  endeared  himself  to  the  most  foul 
amongst  the  lowest  by  these  attributes.  But,  like  Robes- 
pierre, who  was  a  very  fop  in  appearance  and  action,  he 
accepted  no  public  money,  and  lived  most  obscurely  in 
three  or  four  garret-like  rooms,  most  meanly  furnished. 
This  man  was  the  idol  of  the  commonest  people,  who 
saluted  him  almost  as  though* a  God:  and  he  must  have 
had  some  occult  powej  of  attraction,  for  a  woman  really 
beautiful  devoted  her  life  and  honor  to  this  creature. 
Nor  was  he  without  the  sentiment  of    self-sacrifice  ;    for, 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.         *  333 

though  dying,  though  every  violent  speech  he  made, 
which  was  always  prefaced  by  the  cry  uBloo<}!"  brought 

him  nearer  to  the  grave,  he  never  hesitated  to  exert  him- 
self, and  quitted  his  bed  or  his  bath,  in  which  he  passed 

the  greater  part  of  his  time,  to  go  down  to  the  ('(inven- 
tion, and  denounce  men  on  the  most  frivolous  pretences. 

The  moderate  party  in  the  Convention — the  Girondists 
— who  in  theory  desired  to  save  the  King,  and  in  practice 
condemned  him  to  death,  were  by  this  time  in  danger. 
They  were  in  the  way  of  the  fiercer  part}',  led  by  Marat, 
Danton,  and  Robespierre,  who  were  to  eclipse  both;  and 
these  Girondists  were  already  in  the  hands  of  their  op- 
ponents, condemned  to  follow  the  King  to  the  scaffold. 

It  was  in  such  language  as  the  following  that  Marat, 
who  gained  a  poor  living  as  the  editor  of  a  very  fierce  pa- 
per, spoke,  in  his  Friend  of  the  People  : 

"  I  pray  my  readers  pardon  me  to-day  if  I  speak  of 
myself;  not  because  I  am  vain,  or  a  fool,  or  because  I 
wish  to  serve  the  people,  and,  therefore,  must  justify  myself 
in  their  sight;  for  I  am  accused  of  being  a  monster, 
greedy  of  blood — a  tiger,  longing  for  gore  ! 

"Born  with  a  sensitive  heart,  carefully  nurtured,  at 
twenty-brie,  I  was  pure,  and  had  long  since  given  myself  up 
to  knowledge. 

"  My  mother  gave  much  in  charity,  and  all  she  gave 
passed  through  my  hands.  At  eight,  I  could  not  endure 
cruelty,  and  the  sight  of  it  enraged  me  to  madness. 

"As  a  child  I  was  weak,  and  never  did  I  know  the  joys 
of  childhood.  I  was  so  loved,  that  I  was  never  punished 
but  once,  when  eleven,  and  then  unjustly.  I  sprang  from 
the  window  of  the  room  in  which  I  was  confined,  and  found 
liberty  in  the  streets,  where,  even  now,  only  liberty  is  to 
be  found." 

He  concluded  this  article  : — 

"  Restored  to  health,  I  only  thought  how  I  could  be 
useful  to  the  cause  of  freedom.  And  yet  they  accuse  me 
of  having  sold  myself, — I,  who  could  amass  millions  by 
merely  selling  my  silence, — I,  who  am  in  poverty  and 
want ! " 


334  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

Strange  enough,  like  Robespierre,  Marat  firmly  be- 
lieved he  was  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  God.  "  The 
Revolution,"  he  would  say,  "  is  the  Gospel,  and  I  am  its 
apostle." 

But  all  the  raving  in  the  world  could  not  hide  the  fact 
that  France  had  suddenly  become  poor.  To  be  rich,  was 
to  run  the  risk  of  being  accused  of  being  an  aristocrat. 
And  as  all  gold  and  silver  was  in  the  hands  of  the  rich, 
and  these  were  flying  from  Trance,  the  land  was  actually 
being  drained  of  specie. 

Paper  money  was  issued — a  currency  which  the  people 
mistrusted,  as  the  people  always  mistrust  the  unusual ;  and 
the  Girondists  were  popularly  accused  of  causing  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  precious  metals. 

The  walls  of  popular  hate  were  closing  round  that  score 
of  devoted  men. 

The  aspect  of  the  land  was  horrible.  People  feared  to 
go  about  in  anything  but  rags,  dreading  to  be  supposed 
rich,  and  therefore  only  fit  to  die  ;  land  remained  uncultiva- 
ted, for  its  owners  had  fled  ;  and  the  half-destroyed,  empty 
houses  of  the  nobility  began  falling  into  ruins.  Not  a  car- 
riage was  to  be  seen,  nor  a  jewel,  nor  any  sign  of  luxury. 
All  was  abject,  wretched,  debased.  The  bakers'  shops  were 
almost  like  prisons  (to  this  day,  bakers'  shops  in  Paris  are 
often  barred)  ;  and  the  only  prodigality  was  that  of  wine, 
the  manyj'ears  store  of  which  flowed  in  terrible  abundance. 
It  was  cheaper  than  bread,  and  steeled  the  heart  to  pity. 
Commerce  had  ceased,  and  not  a  sail  beyond  that  of  a 
French   fishing-smack  was  to  be  seen  in  the  French  waters. 

Marat  now  advocated  the  pillage  of  every  store-house  in 
the  land,  and  the  hanging  of  some  of  the  owners  in  their 
own  gateways,  as  an  example  to  the  rest. 

And  now  that  which  was  most  feared  occurred — civil 
war.  La  Vendue,  in  the  north-west  of  France — the  Brit- 
tany of  to-day — rose  almost  to  a  man,  and  defied  the  repub- 
lic. 

Spain  now  began  to  pour  her  soldiers  upon  the  south, 
while  Austrians  and  Prussians  were  gaining  victory  after 
victory  in  the  north  and  east. 

So  north,  south,  east,  and  west,  enemies'  faces  were 
turned  upon  France,  while  England  was  preparing  to  sweep 
her  navy  around  the  whole  of  the  coasts  of  the  now  devoted 
land. 


LOVE    A^D     LIBERTY.  335 

The  Convention  commanded  that  a  black  flag  should 
float  from  the  towers  of  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Paris. 

The  theatres  were  closed. 

Only  one  cry  was  heard  in  the  streets — "  To  arms — to 
arms  ! " 

Danton  and  Robespierre  now  quarrelled.  One  Legendre 
undertook  to  reconcile  them,  and  they  met  without  previous 
warning.  Danton.  a  bull-dog  in  ferocity,  and  with  the  bull- 
dog's generosity  advanced,  and  held  out  his  hand.  Robes- 
pierre, with  the  silent  stealth  of  the  tiger,  which  waits  and 
pounces,  affected  not  to  see  it.  ate  his  dinner  in  silence,  and 
went  away,  after  the  utterance  of  a  few  words,  which  were 
the  first  that  openby  indicated  his  intention  of  betraying 
Danton. 

Danton  was  beginning  to  repent.  His  remorse  was  nat- 
ural. He  had  lost  his  wife,  whose  death  had  been  accel- 
erated by  terror.  Unable  to  endure  his  loneliness,  he  sought 
another  wife  ;  her  parents  rejected  him  with  loathing.  But, 
after  a  little,  they  pitied  his  misery,  and  gave  their  daugh- 
ter to  this  strangely  compounded  man. 

Danton  now  contemplated  what  was  clone  after  Napoleon 
had  reigned  and  lived,  after  Louis  XVIII  had  reigned  and 
died,  after  Charles  X  had  been  driven  from  the  French  throne 
—  the  giving  of  a  King  to  France,  not  belonging  directly 
to  the  hated  'Bourbons,  but  to  the  younger  branch,  the 
Orleanists,  the  leader  of  whom,  Philip  Equality,  had  voted 
Louis  XVI's  death.  He  was  never  crowned;  he  died  on  the 
scaffold.  His  son,  Louis  Philippe,  ultimately  became  King 
of  France. 

Philip  Equality  refused  the  proposal. 

Meanwhile,  the  convention  was  becoming  a  mere  field  of 
battle.  On  one  particular  night,  the  two  sides  clash  —  a 
poniard  is  drawn,  a  pistol  is  clapped  to  a  breast,  and  murder 
is  nearly  done.  It  is  felt  that  one  party  must  be  swept 
away,  or  nothing  will  be  done.  The  moderate  party,  the 
Girondists,  twenty-two  in  all.  are  to-night  nearer  the  scaf- 
fold by  a  long  journey  than  they  were  in  the  morning. 

Marat  is  declared  a  traitor  by  two  hundred  and  twenty 
voices,  against  ninety-two.  Marat  defies  the  vote,  throws 
himself  into  the  arms  of  the  people,  and  is  borne  home  in 
triumph. 


336  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

The  people  rise  in  his  favor. 

On  the  24th  of  April  (the  Queen  has  been  waiting  death 
during  three  months)  Marat  is  strong  enough  to  appear 
and  defy  Parliament.  He  commands  them  to  declare  him 
innocent  of  treason.  This  defiance  is  carried  to  the  thous- 
ands of  armed  men  waiting  the  issue  outside  the  House  of 
Assembly.  A  cannon-like  roar  from  the  people  declare  their 
■will — and  he  is  pronounced  innocent. 

The  people  place  him  on  a  plank,  the  throne  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  bear  him  through  the  streets,  after  crowning  him 
with  flowers. 

"  It  is  }'ou,  the  people,"  he  cries,  "who  crown  themselves 
upon  my  head.  I  am  the  King  of  Poverty.  May  every 
head,  which  would  rear  itself  above  the  level  of  the  people 
soon  fall,  "when  I  cry  '  Kill !  '  " 

A  few  days,  and,  in  his  arrogance,  he  says  to  his  brother 
Conventionists,  "  I  hold  }7ou  as  a  little  water  in  the  palm 
of  this  hand ;  and  as  readily  as  I  spill  it,  so  I  can  spill  the 
blood  of  all  of  you  !  " 

By  this  time,  Philip  Equality,  for  what  he  had  been — a 
Duke — had  become  hated  of  the  people.  Strangely  enough, 
he  who  had  been  so  cowardly  as  a  youth,  now,  when  his 
life  was  threatened,  became  brave.  When  he  was  arrested, 
he  was  perfectly  calm  ;  when  separated  from  the  elder  of 
his  two  sons,  he  was  perfectly  resigned.  He  had  turned 
from  his  family  to  serve  the  people,  and  he  now  wore  their 
chains. 

The  people  now  demanded  the  deaths  of  all  the  leaders 
of  the  more  moderate  Conventionists. 

"  Death  to  the  twenty-two  !  " 

The  people  had  slain  a  King — therefore  they  began  to 
demand  the  lives  of  those  who  sought,  as  Republicans,  to 
govern  tl*e  stricken  land. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

WHOLESALE    MASSACRE. 


The  twenty-two  deputies  were  already   condemned  by 
the  will  of  the  ensanguined  mob. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  337 

On  the  eve  of  the  last  day  in  May  (1793),  of  those 
twenty-two,  only  one,  the  leader,  Yergniaud,  slept  in  his 
own  home.  The  others  feared  an  assassination,  and  sought 
the  a;d  of  friends. 

A  vote  being  carried  against  the  moderates,  the  victors 
proposed  to  walk  with  the  people  through  the  city,  which 
was  illuminated.  The  Girondists,  as  a  measure  of  pre- 
caution, joined  in  the  procession. 

While  the  procession  was  progressing,  that  now  or- 
ganized hand,  the  Revolutionary  Committee,  sent  to 
arrest  Madame  Roland's  husband. 

That  evening,  Roland,  who  does  not  show  well  in  this 
business,  fled  into  hiding.  Madame  Roland  then  deter- 
mined to  go  down  to  the  Convention  and  upbraid  it.  So 
far,  the  French  had  not  begun  to  behead  women.  Starting 
from  her  home,  she  was  surprised  to  find  the  cit}'  had  been 
suddenly  illuminated.  Making  her  way  to  the  Convention, 
she  found  it  closed.  And  she  learnt  that  the  moderate 
party  were  overthrown,  and  that  they  would  soon  be  head- 
less. 

She  returned  home,  to  await  her  fate.  She  did  not  seek 
to  fly.  Roland,  poor  man,  remained  in  concealment — only, 
after  a  time,  to  be  ashamed  of  his  cowardice,  and  to  commit 
suicide. 

She  prepared  to  send  away  her  daughter  to  trusted 
friends,  made  up  a  packet  of  clothing  to  take  with  her  to 
prison,  and  waited.  At  midnight,  they  came  beating  at 
her  door,  and  she  had  to  be  awakened ;  for  no  fear  of  death 
deprived  her  of  that  balm  of  life — sleep. 

"  How  much  you  are  beloved  ! "  said  the  leader  of  the 
sectionaries,  seeing  the  eagerness  with  which  the  young 
daughter  kissed  her  mother. 

"  Because  I  love,"  she  replied,  proudly. 

Reaching  the  carriage  waiting  for  her,  she  was  asked  if 
she  would  have  the  window  closed. 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  "  I  have  done  no  harm,  and  I  can 
face  my  enemies." 

"  You  are  braver  than  many  men  waiting  the  decree  of 
justice." 

"  If  in  France  there  were  justice,  /should  not  he  seated 
with  you.     I  shall  go  to  the  scaffold  as  fearlessly  as  I  go  to 
prison.     I  despise  life." 
21 


338  LOVE     AND      LIBERTY. 

Marat  now  became  supreme.  "  Rise,  sovereign  people  !  " 
he  cried  ;  "  no  man  dare  oppose  you." 

There  was  never  given  a  more  fearful  impetus  to  murder 
than  these  words. 

What  it  pleased  men  to  call  a  Committee  of  Public 
Safety  was  now  organized,  and  its  operation  was  the  killing 
of  every  human  being  who  could  by  any  means  be  made  to 
appear  not  utterly  to  sympathise  with  the  seething  mob. 

The  Convention  existed,  but  its  power  was  completely  at 
an  end.  Its  votes  were  laughed  at.  Queen  Guillotine  was 
the  one  power  left  in  France. 

Every  day  the  foreign  arms  directed  against  France 
obtained  successes.  Meanwhile,  the  land  was  like  a  vessel 
without  a  rudder.  No  man  was  strong  enough  to  control 
the  mob.  Indeed,  it  was  only  when  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
rose,  that  internal  peace  was  established.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  he  came  to  be  looked  up  to  as  a  demi-god. 

Twenty  thousand  Royalist  volunteers  were  now  in  arms 
against  Marat,  in  one  department  of  France  alone. 

Marat  was  at  this  time  King  of  Paris.  Robespierre 
was  waiting.  Danton  was  threatening  and  trembling  at 
the  same  time.  Another  week,  and  the  foul  Marat  would 
have  conquered  both,  and  been  proclaimed,  by  the  voice  of 
the  streets,  President  of  the  Republic. 

But  his  hideous  career  was  to  be  arrested  by  the  feeble 
hand  of  a  girl — Charlotte  Corday. 

Just  before  the  commencement  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
in  France,  there  might  have  been  seen  in  a  quiet  corner  of 
a  quiet  old  street  in  Caen  (that  city  in  Normandy  so  much 
mixed  up  with  the  early  history  of  English),  a  quiet  old 
house,  called  the  Grand  Manor — a  house  around  a  court- 
yard, in  the  centre  of  which  was  a  mossy  fountain.  Near 
this  fountain,  through  the  sunny  hours,  might  frequently 
be  seen  a  very  beautiful  girl,  the  niece  of  an  aged  woman, 
who  was  the  maiden's  aunt.  This  was  Charlotte  Corday. 
Fair  of  skin,  and  grey  of  eye,  her  hair  was  what  had  not 
inaptly  been  termed  gilded-black.  In  other  words,  it  was 
black  hair,  golden-tipped,  with  golden  lines  veining  it. 
She  was  always  dressed  plainly,  in  brown  cloth,  and  her 
voice  was  sweet  and  lingering.  No  man  has  ever  breathed 
a  word  against  her  character. 

By  a  peculiar  course  of  study — which  it  is  needless  to 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  339 

analyze — she  had  brought  herself  to  that  condition  of  mind 
when  the  sufferer  experiences  the  belief  that  a  self-sacrifice, 
of  some  nature  must  be  made,  in  order  to  appease  an  inex- 
plicable, unknown  longing  to  do  some  good — a  something 
which  is  supposed  to  be  good — in  the  world. 

She  was  essentially  a  Republican  ;  but  gradually,  slowly, 
the  conviction  enchained  her,  that  Marat  was  its  monster, 
and  that  he  must  die.  Her  resolve  appears  to  have  been 
hastened  by  the  departure  of  her  lovir,  who  joined  the 
Caen  volunteers.  This  gentleman,  one  Franquelin,  was,  it 
is  said,  accused  by  Marat  as  a  conspirator  against  the  re- 
public, and  assassinated  by  villains  hired  for  that  purpose. 
He  did  not  die  on  the  spot,  as  it  was  at  first  reported,  but 
returned  home  after  Charlotte  Corday-s  execution.  His  last 
words  were  an  entreaty  to  his  mother  to  bury  with  him 
Charlotte's  portrait,  and  all  the  letters  she  had  ever  written 
to  him. 

Supplemental  to  the  latter  motive,  Charlotte  Corday 
believed  Marat  was  ruining  all  France.  Here  she  believed 
truly. 

She  obtained  a  letter  to  one  of  the  Conventionists.  No 
one  had  the  slightest  idea  of  her  intentions.  She  retained 
a  sweet,  soft  gaiety,  which  was  quite  natural  to  her,  and 
which  accompanied  this  lady  to  the  scaffold.  An  anecdote 
is  very  characteristic  of  her  life.  Just  before  she  started 
for  Paris,  passing  a  cafe,  outside  of  which  some  inen  were 
card-playing,  she  said,  "  Cards !  Do  you  know  your 
country  is  dying?" 

Taking  a  sheet  of  drawing-paper  one  morning,  she  said, 
"  Aunt,  I  am  going  to  sketch  the  hay-makers — kiss  me." 

Going  out,  she  met  a  child,  of  whom  she  was  very  fond. 

"  Here,  Robert,"  she  said,  giving  him  the  drawing-paper; 
"  kiss  me,  and  be  a  good  boy.     You  will  never  see  me  again."' 

She  chattered  in  the  coach  most  of  the  way  to  Paris. 
One  young  man  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  asked  to  apply  to 
her  friends.  She  mirthfully  repulsed  him,  and  told  him  to 
wait,  at  least  for  some  days. 

It  was  now  July.  On  the  eleventh  of  that  month,  Char- 
lotte Corday  reached  Paris.  At  five  in  the  afternoon  she 
retired  to  rest  in  a  public-house,  and  slept  until  next  day, 
when  she  presented  her  letter  at  the  house  of  the  conven- 
tionist,  Duperret.     When   she  saw   him,  she   vaguely  en- 


340  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

treated  him  to  flee  from  Paris.  "  After  to-morrow  evening," 
she  said,  "it  will  be  too  late." 

Duperret  spoke  of  her  as  a  beautiful  girl,  slightly  de- 
ranged. 

Her  great  desire  was  to  remain  unknown  by  name  in 
connection  with  the  death  of  Marat.  With  this  view,  she 
determined  to  kill  him  before  the  people,  so  that  she  might 
at  once  be  torn  to  pieces,  and  her  mutilated  face  be  beyond 
recognition.  But  she  learnt  that  Marat  was  so  ill  that  he 
could  not  appear  in  public  again.  He  still  issued,  daily, 
stronger  and  more  defiant  demands  for  men's  lives.  It  was 
said  he  remained  at  home  from  fear  of  assassination.  Char- 
lotte Corday  resolved  to  seek  him  in  his  home. 

She  wrote  this  letter : — 

"  I  have  just  arrived  from  Caen.  Your  patriotism  allows 
me  to  be  presumptive  enough  to  hope  that  you  will  hear 
privately  what  I  have  to  say  concerning  events  in  that  city. 
I  shall  present  myself  at  your  door  about  one  o'clock.  I 
pray  you  for  the  good  of  all  France — receive  me  !  " 

She  went  to  his  house,  and  was  refused  admittance.  She 
wrote  another  letter  : — 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  it  was  you  yourself  refused  me  ad- 
mission :  you  are  too  good  a  patriot.  I  repeat,  I  have  im- 
portant news  to  tell  you  ;  that  I  have  just  arrived  from  the 
north,  and  I  have  secrets  to  disclose.  I  am  persecuted. 
Will  you,  then,  not  aid  me  ?  " 

At  seven  the  next  morning  she  dressed  herself  very  care- 
fully. She  wore  a  white  dress,  with  a  silk  scarf  crossed  over 
the  breast  and  knotted  behind — a  white  Normandy  cap, 
bound  with  a  green  ribbon — her  hair  falling  over  her  should- 
ers. Her  face  was  bright,  fresh-colored,  her  countenance 
smiling. 

Thus  she  presented  herself  at  the  house  occupied  by 
Marat,  who  happened  to  be  in  his  bath,  which  he  used,  not 
for  its  cleanly  offices,  but  because  it  reduced  the  bodily 
inflammation  which  had  now  become  habitual  to  him. 

The  house,  which  bore  all  the  aspects  of  that  poverty  in 
which    Marat  was  really  plunged,  was  jealously    guarded. 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  341 

But  what  men  could  suspect  a  beautiful  girl,  clothed  in 
brilliant  white,  her  face  flashing  with  youth  and  beauty  ? 

Charlotte  Corday  stepped  from  her  coach,  and  approached 
the  house.  She  reached  the  outer  door  of  the  apartments 
in  which  Marat  lived,  and  there  her  entrance  was  jealously 
opposed  by  Albertine,  Marat's  mistress,  and  a  female  friend. 

Marat,  hearing  the  altercation,  and  associating  the  plead- 
ing voice  with  the  letters  he  had  received,  imperatively 
ordered  the  applicant  to  be  admitted. 

Now  mark  what  occurred.  The  woman  Albertine,  offend- 
ed, walked  away,  her  friend  followed  her,  and  Charlotte 
Corday  was  alone  with  Marat. 

The  room  was  dark,  close,  and  smelt  abominably.  He 
was  wrapped  in  a  dirty  sheet,  and  sitting  in  a  bath,  across 
which  was  a  rough  piece  of  wood  which  he  made  his  desk, 
for  he  passed  hours  in  the  water.  He  was  writing  when 
Charlotte  Corday  entered.  He  had  finished  this  sentence  : 
— "I  demand  that  every  man  in  France  who  has  the  blood 
of  the  Bourbons  in  his  veins,  however  little,  shall  be  put 
upon  his  trial,  and  his  wife  and  children  also." 

She  approached  this  human  monster,  her  eyes  downcast. 
He  spoke  to  her  imperiously — "  What  is  the  state  of  Nor- 
mandy ':'  '' 

"  Certain  deputies  have  taken  refuge  in  Caen." 

l;  Their  names  ?  " 

She  gave  certain  names,  and  he  wrote  them  down. 

"  Good  ! '  he  said  ;  "  before  another  week  is  past,  they 
shall  be  guillotined." 

At  this  moment  she  raised  the  dagger  she  took  from  the 
breast  of  her  dress,  and  plunged  it  down  into  his  bosom. 

"  Help,  my  dear,  help  ! "  he  cried,  and  fell  back  dead. 

Albertine,  the  woman,  and  a  man  named  Basse  rushed 
forward  in  time  to  see  his  last-drawn  breath.  By  this  time 
the  water  was  like  that  crimson  stream  Marat  was  forever 
demanding.     He  was  bathed  in  it  himself  now. 

She  did  not  attempt  to  escape.  She  drew  out  the  dagger, 
let  it  fall,  and  took  two  or  three  steps  to  the  window.  The 
man  Basse  caught  up  a  chair  and  beat  her  down,  whereupon 
the  woman,  Albertine,  trampled  upon  her. 

The  news  spread  in  an  incalculably  short  space  of  time, 
and  the  seething  people  called  up  into  the  air,  "Throw  her 
out  to  us  ;   we  are  waiting." 


842  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

Soldiers  rushed  in,  forming  a  hedge  of  steel  ahout  Char- 
lotte Corday,  and  beat  back  the  blaspheming  crowd. 

Charlotte  showed  no  fear,  crossed  her  hands  ready  for  the 
cords,  and  her  first  words  were  "  Poor  woman !  "  in  refer- 
ence to  Albertine,  who  was  rending  the  air  with  her  cries. 

She  said  afterwards  she  had  not  asked  herself  the  ques- 
tion,  "Could  this  man  be  loved?" 

"  Poor  people  !  "  she  said  to  those  who  endeavored  to  tear 
her  to  pieces ;  "you  desire  my  death,  whilst  you  owe  me  an 
altar  for  having  freed  you  from  a  monster!  Oh,  throw  me 
to  the  people,"  she  said  to  the  soldiers ;  "  as  they  regret 
him,  they  are  fit  to  be  my  executioners  ! " 

She  was  not  cast  among  the  people — at  least,  she  died  in 
peace.     She  boasted  of  her  act,  and  declared  herself  a  mar- 

Paris  turned  pale  at  the  news.  The  panic  reaching  the 
Convention,  business  was  arrested.  One  Henriot,  the 
Commandant-General  of  the  National  Guard,  entered. 
"Tremble!"  he  cried.  "Marat  has  been  assassinated  by 
a  girl,  who  boasts  of  her  deed !  Tremble  !  Such  a  fate 
threatens  all !  Mistrust  green  ribbons,  and  let  us  swear  to 
avenge  the  death  of  this  great  man." 

Charlotte  Corday,  accused  of  murder,  stood  beautiful  and 
smiling  in  the  midst  of  accusers,  all  of  whom  wore  fierce 
looks  of  hate  and  rage. 

She  wTas  fearless  until  she  reached  the  street,  when  the 
blaze  of  shouts  so  terrified  this  young  country  girl,  that  she 
fainted.  Restored  to  consciousness,  (they  had  bound  her 
weak  hands),  she  cried,  "  Alas  !  do  1  still  live?  " 

Then  quite  consistently,  she  thanked  her  guardians  for 
saving  her  from  the  crowd. 

She  never  for  one  moment  looked  upon  her  act  as  a  crime. 
When  interrogated  at  her  trial,  she  adhered  to  this  state- 
ment : — "  I  saw  civil  war  enveloping  France.  I  considered 
Marat  its  chief  cause,  and  to  save  my  country  I  sacrificed 
myself,  and  slew  him." 

That  her  virtue  was  attacked  at  her  trial,  is  a  condition 
of  things  which  clearly  proves  how  deephy  dyed  in  preju- 
dice by  this  time  had  become  the  revolutionary  tribunals. 

One  Chabot  under  pretence  of  suspecting  a  concealed 
paper,  tore  off  her  breast  kerchief.  She  leaped  back  at  the 
outrage,  the  string  of  her  dress  broke,  and  her  fair  chest 


LOVE    AND    LIBERTY.  343 

was  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  a  number  of  savage  men.  Her 
hands  were  corded,  so  that  she  could  not  sav<  herself  from 
degradation  ;  and  her  virtue  gave  of  itself  h  <r  best  proof, 
for  she  crouched  down  to  hide  her  disarranged  dress.  En- 
treating them  to  untie  her  hands,  they  complied  ;  and  turn- 
ing her  back  to  the  wall,  she  rapidly  completed  her  toilette. 
Where  the  cords  had  been,  the  flesh  was  marked  with  great 
blue  bands;  and  very  meekly  she  asked  to  be  allowed  to 
put  on  her  long  gloves  before  the  knots  were  again  tied. 
Upon  her  dress,  alter  her  death,  was  found  pinned  a  long 
address  to  France,  in  which  she  entreated  all  men  to  destroy 
the  Jacobins,  and  save  France; 

She  was  condemned  to  die  the  following  morning.  An 
artist,  during  her  trial,  having  been  remarked  by  her  draw- 
ing her  face,  she  requested  he  might  complete  it,  and  the 
painter  was  introduced  to  her  cell.  One  man  endeavored 
to  save  her  by  maintaining  she  was  insane.  In  this  shape 
of  pity,  he  nearly  lost  his  own  head. 

She  wrote  of  Marat  finally: — "Pardon  me,  oh  men! 
The  name  of  Marat  ditdionors  j-our  race.  He  was  a  beast 
of  prey  seeking  to  devour  France  by  war  and  hate.  I 
thank  Heaven  that  by  birth  he  was  no  Frenchman." 

She  was  pained  by  the  accusation  made  by  Chabot.  the 
wretch  who  had  torn  away  her  neckerchief,  who  declared 
she  had  been  his  mistress,  far  more  than  by  the  thought  of 
approaching  death.  ''Chabot,"  she  wrote,  "is  a  mere  mad- 
man. I  never  even  dreamed  of  this  man.  He  need  not  be 
feared — he  has  not  intellect  enough  to  be  dangerous." 

In  the  same  paper  she  said,  "All  Parisians  are  such 
good  citizens,  they  cannot  comprehend  how  a  useless 
woman,  whose  longest  term  of  life  would  be  good  for  noth- 
ing, can  calmly  sacrifice  herself  for  her  country.  To- 
morrow, at  twelve,  I  shall  have  lived  !  " 

Again  she  said,  "  'Tis  crime  gives  the  shame — it  is  not 
the  block."  This  is  the  verse  of  the  great  French  poet 
Corneille,  who  was  her  ancestor. 

Tried  at  eight  in  the  morning,  and  knowing  she  should 
die  at  mid-day,  she  said,  upon  leaving  the  prison,  "  Madame 
Kick  aid,  pray  let  my  breakfast  be  ready  upon  my  return, 
or  we  shall  not  have  time  to  take  it  together." 

At  her  trial,  it  being  maintained  that  the  nature  of  the 
blow  which  killed  Marat  had  been  that  of  one  accomplished 


344  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

in  the  use  of  the  dagger,  she  cried,  "  Miserable  wretch — 
he  takes  me  for  an  assassin  !  " 

The  counsel  for  her  defence  urged  that  she  only  pleaded 
that  in  killing  Marat  she  was  doing  a  public  good. 

The  jury  directly  found  her  guilty,  and  ordered  her  prop- 
erty to  be  confiscated. 

"Sir,"  she  said  to  her  defender,  "}-ou  have  done  well. 
But  I  cannot  pay  you,  for  you  have  heard  how  my  property 
has  been  seized.  However,  I  do  you  this  honor ;  I  pray 
that  you  will  pay  the  few  pieces  of  silver  I  owe  to  the 
prison  people — they  ought  to  be  paid." 

Going  back  to  her  prison,  where  the  painter  finished  her 
portrait,  she  conversed  about  painting. 

A  knock  at  the  cell-door,  and  the  executioner  entered, 
carrying  scissors  with  which  to  cut  away  her  hair,  and  the 
red  garments  worn  by  the  condemned  on  their  way  to  exe- 
cution. 

"Sir,"  she  said  to  the  painter,  "I  can  only  offer  you  a 
lock  of  hair." 

And  taking  the  gaoler's  scissors,  she  cut  a  lock  of  the 
wonderful  hair. 

A  priest  coming,  she  said,  "  I  thank  those  who  have 
been  kind  enough  to  send  you,  but  I  do  not  require  j'our 
services.  The  blood  I  have  spilt,  and  my  own,  which  I  am 
about  to  shed,  are  the  only  sacrifices  I  can  offer  the  Eter- 
nal." 

The  executioner  now  cut  off  her  hair,  and  flung  over  her 
head  the  red  garment. 

"  This,'1  she  said,  "  is  the  toilette  of  death,  arranged  by 
somewhat  rude  hands,  but  it  leads  to  immortality." 

As  she  stepped  upon  the  cart,  such  as  carried  all  those 
condemned  to  death  to  the  place  of  execution,  a  violent 
storm  burst  over  Paris.  Women  danced  about  the  death- 
cart,  uttering  imprecations  ;  hers  was  the  only  calm  face  to 
be  seen.  Strangely  enough,  the  rain  wetting  the  red  flan- 
nel— her  only  covering  to  the  waist — it  clung  to  her  skin, 
and  betrayed  her  to  be  exquisitely  formed,  especially  as  her 
hands  were  so  tied  behind  her  that  she  was  forced  to  hold 
herself  upright. 

As  she  neared  the  scaffold,  the  sun  appeared,  and  the 
gold  threads  in  her  hair  shone  out  magnificently. 

The    leaders    of    the    rebellion,    Danton,    Robespierre, 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  345 

Camille  Desmoulins,  standing  at  a  window,  saw  her  pass. 
She  had  preserved  them  from  Marat, but,  at  the  same  time, 
she  had  shown  how  a  tyrant  could  be  slain.  She  .saved 
their  lives  by  her  act  ;  but  she  taught,  also,  how  they 
might  be  taken. 

One  Adam  Lux,  a  German,  was  hopelessly  stricken  by 
love  as  she  passed  along,  lie  followed  to  the  scaffold's  feet, 
asking  to  die  with  her. 

Beaching  the  scaffold,  she  turned  pale,  and,  for  one 
moment,  shrank  ;  but  the  next,  recovering  herself,  ascended 
the  steps  as  rapidly  as  her  long  red  dress  and  pinoned  arms 
would  allow. 

When  the  executioner  pulled  down  her  dress,  that  her 
neck  might  be  bare,  she  was  for  the  last  time  outraged 
while  living.  She  placed  herself  upon  the  plank,  and,  the 
next  moment,  her  head  fell. 

Legros,  a  miserable  scaffold-dog,  took  up  the  head  by  the 
remaining  hair,  and  struck  at  the  cheeks.  It  is  said  the 
skin  grew  scarlet,  as  though  the  modesty  of  Charlotte  Cor- 
day  outlasted  her  life. 

Did  her  face  change  color?  Some  hold  that  the  head 
has  consciousness  and  power  after  being  severed  from  the 
body,  and  that  it  can  see  and  hear.  Nay,  it  was  urged  dur- 
ing the  Revolution  that  the  passion  of  the  heads  remained, 
because  the  interior  of  the  wicker  baskets  in  which  the 
heads  were  carried  away  were  often  found  to  be  gnawed,  as 
though  the  teeth  of  the  heads  gnashed  after  separation 
from  the  body.  For  my  part,  I  believe  that  this  gnawing 
was  effected  by  rats,  which  at  that  time,  even  more  than 
now,  overran  Paris. 

Such  was  the  death  of  Marat — of  his  murderer,  whom  we 
cannot  praise.  But  who  can  blame  her?  AssuredljT  her 
death  was  necessary  to  purge  her  of  assassination,  to  some 
ex  cent. 

Adam  Lux,  wild  with  love,  published  a  defence  of 
Charlotte  Corday.  He  was  seized,  and,  three  days  after- 
wards, died  by  the  very  knife  which  destroyed  her  life. 

Chenier,  the  patriotic  poet,  sang  her  heroism.  He  was 
soon  arrested,  and  therefore  beheaded. 

But  what  good  had  Charlotte  Corday  done  ? 

She  had  strengthened  the  love  of  the  people  for  desperate 
measures  ;  she  had  made  a  martyr  of  their  most  foul  lead- 


346  LOVE     ANP    LIBERTY. 

er.  She  gave  a  dignity  to  those  who  advocated  the  scaf- 
fold. The  liberal  twenty-two  knew  that  this  last  act  anni- 
hilated them. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

MARIE     ANTOINETTE. 


The  Convention  ordained  the  worship  of  Marat,  and 
cast  his  corse  to  the  people  as  an  idol. 

He  was  called  Caesar,  and  his  funeral  was  modelled  upon 
the  historical  narrative  of  that  given  by  Rome  to  the  great 
Julius. 

The  body  was  carried  by  torchlight  to  the  garden  of  the 
house  in  which  he  made  his  most  inflammatory  speeches  ; 
and  there  he  was  buried  under  trees  heavily  laden  with 
countless  brilliantly-illuminated  paper  lamps. 

His  head  was  placed  in  an  urn,  and  hung  in  the  centre 
of  the  Convention.  His  memorj1  was  decreed  an  altar,  and 
at  its-foot  his  admirers  appropriately  called  for  blood. 

The  enemy  was  now  approaching  on  all  sides,  and  thous- 
ands more  Roj'alists  were  in  array. 

Meanwhile  Danton  was  sinking  in  estimation,  Robes- 
pierre rising,  for  Robespierre  was  a  patient  man. 

Danton,  dazzled  with  his  new  wife,  wished  to  live  the  life 
of  a  small  country  gentleman.     It  was  too  late. 

Robespierre  was  breaking  in  health,  but  his  temperance 
would  stand  him  in  good  stead  of  health  for  a  long  while. 
His  motto  was  "  Wait." 

The  Committee  of  Public  Safety  was  meanwhile  reaping 
a  rich  harvest  of  death. 

Money  was  no  longer  to  be  seen. 

Bread  was  rare. 

People  were  dying  of  starvation  (especially  the  old)  in 
every  street. 

The  more  cruel  of  the  Conventionists  carried  by  acclama- 
tion these  decrees — the  true  legal  inauguration  of  the 
Reign  of  Terror : 

"  Six  thousand  soldiers  and  twelve  hundred  artillerymen 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 


347 


to  do  blindly  the  Lidding  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety. 

"  All  men  who  have  been  in  the  Government  occupation 
during  the  late  King's  life,  to  quit  Paris. 

"  The  delivery  of  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal  of  the 
Moderate  Conventionists. 

"  The  right  to  search  any  house  at  any  hour  of  the  night. 

"  The  transportation  beyond  the  seas  of  every  common 
woman  in  the  land. 

"  Finally,  the  payment  of  workmen  who  should  leave 
their  shops  to  follow  up  the  public  service." 

By  these  measures  the  mob  were  not  only  encouraged  to 
take  life,  but  paid  to  do  it.  Nothing  could  save  such  a  sys- 
tem resulting,  if  long  continued,  in  national  death  ! 

By  the  way,  Sunday  was  chosen  as  the  best  day  for 
working  these  mob  committees. 

This  was  followed  by  Merlin's  decree,  which  provided  for 
the  arrest  (without  proof)  of  any  suspected  person,  and  of 
all  those  who,  not  working,  were  enabled  to  live  in  a  better 
condition  than  one  of  penury.  This  was  an  attack  upon  all 
people  who  had  hidden  money.  In  fact,  starvation  had  by 
this  time  become  the  only  mode  of  avoiding  the  guillotine. 

Prisons  were  not  large  enough  to  contain  prisoners,  and 
all  the  confiscated  churches  were  converted  into  gaols. 
Death  was  decreed  for  almost  every  act  of  life — certainly  for 
every  act  of  pity. 

A  hundred  men,  less  two,  were  beheaded  in  sixty  days  in 
Paris  alone. 

The  Queen  was  too  noble  a  victim  to  escape. 

The  Convention  suddenly  ordered  her  trial,  and  command- 
ed her  separation  from  the -two  children. 

Now  all  the  lethargy  which  has  possessed  her  since  the 
King's  death  departs,  and  she  becomes  as  a  lioness  fighting 
for  her  young. 

By  this  time,  all  the  beauty  of  Marie  Antoinette  had 
vanished,  and  there  remained  a  very  broken  old  woman, 
aged  about  a  little  more  than  thirty,  with  very  scanty 
white  hair,  falling  in  patches  from  an  almost  bald  head. 
The  bodjr,  as  the  soul,  had  shrunken — a  skeleton  remained, 
covered  with  mere  skin.. 

This  was  the  Queen,  who  leapt  into  life  when  her  dulled 
hearing  comprehended  that  she  was  to  be  separated  from  her 


348  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

children.  They  had  hut  the  mercy  only  to  remove  the 
son. 

The  boy  clung  to  his  mother,  who  lost  all  dignity,  dug 
her  nails  into  the  child's  flesh,  and  called  upon  the  men  to 
kill  them  both. 

For  two  hours  this  lasted,  and  then  she  became  a  woman 
again — a  mother ;  and  dressing  him  to  look  as  smart  as 
possible,  she  gave  him  up  with  her  own  hands  to  his  gaoler, 
Simon,  who  took  him  at  once  to  the  room  where  the  child 
was  destined  to  die.  For  two  days  and  nights  the  child 
lay  upon  the  floor,  taking  neither  food  nor  drink. 

The  Queen  never  took  her  son  in  her  arms.  He  was  to 
outlive  her  but  a  little  time,  and  then  die  of  sheer  ill-usage 
and  neglect. 

The  Queen,  however,  still  had  her  husband's  sister  and 
her  daughter  with  her.  The  only  consolation  they  had, 
was  ascending  to  the  platform  of  their  tower,  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  boy  on  the  platform  of  the  other  tower. 

Simon's  work  it  was  to  deprave  the  body  and  soul  of  the 
wretched  child.  He  forced  him  to  drink  strong  wine,  and 
made  him  answer  to  the  name  of  "  Wolf."  He  beat  him  if 
he  wept,  encouraged  him  to  every  possible  disgusting  act, 
and  compelled  him  to  sing  obBcene  songs,  while  he  (his 
master)  smoked  and  drank. 

Once,  he  nearly  destroyed  one  of  the  poor  Prince's  ej^es ; 
at  another,  he  raised  a  poker  against  him.  Sometimes  he 
was  kind  ;  and,  upon  one  occasion,  he  said,  "  Capet,  if  the 
soldiers  come  and  deliver  you,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  Forgive  you,"  said  the  child. 

The  man  Simon  actually  wept,  but  he  cried  immediately 
afterwards,  "  There's  some  of  the  blood  of  the  lion  in  the 
whelp." 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  of  the  2nd  of  August,  the 
Queen  was  awakened,  and  told  she  was  to  be  removed  alone, 
to  another  prison. 

In  vain  the  women  threw  themselves  at  the  feet  of  the 
men.     They  had  but  their  duty  to  do. 

The  Queen  was  compelled  to  dress  before  them,  while 
they  ransacked  the  room,  and  seized  every  little  object  the 
Queen  still  retained.  The  miserable  creatures  left  her  a 
handkerchief. 

And  now,  exactly  as  Louis  XVI  had  told  his  children  to 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  849 

forgive  their  enemies,  so  now  desolate  Marie  Antoinette 
told  her  daughter,  in  her  last  words  to  the  poor  child,  to 
forgive  those  who  parted  them. 

"  1  give  my  children  to  you,  sister.  Be  a  second  mother 
to  them." 

For  precisely  as  Louis  appears  to  have  had  no  conception 
of  the  monstrosity  of  putting  a  woman  to  death,  so  the 
Queen,  in  leaving  the  Temple,  appears  not  to  have  supposed 
for  one  moment  that  the  Princess  Elizabeth  would  be 
claimed  by  the  scaffold, — she  who  had  led  the  life  of  a  true 
woman,  who  bad  nursed  and  helped  the  people,  and  never 
joined  in  the  frivolities  of  the  Court. 

The  Queen  was  taken  to  the  prison  of  the  Conciergerie, 
which  is  composed  of  the  dungeons  below  high  water  mark, 
to  be  found  amongst  the  foundations  of  the  Palace  of 
Justice. 

To  a  wretched  cell,  having  in  one  corner  a  straw  bed,  and 
bjT  the  light  of  one  candle,  was  the  ex-Queen  taken. 

A  woman  desirous  of  death  in  the  dungeon  of  a  strong- 
hold, and  yet  they  only  believed  her  safe  when  two  soldiers, 
swords  drawn,  stood  at  the  outer  door  watching,  with  orders 
not  to  lose  sight  of  the  Widow  Capet,  even  when  asleep. 

Madam  Richard,  that  good  woman  who  tended  Charlotte 
Corday  in  her  last  moments,  was  the  Queen's  most  humane 
gaoler.  She  found  something  like  furniture  for  the  cell, 
procured  wholesome  food  for  the  captive,  and  often  brought 
a  low-whispered  message  from  the  royal  prisoners  still  in 
the  Temple. 

A  little  while,  and  the  dampness  of  the  cell  rotted  the 
Queen's  only  dresses — two  very  common  ones  ;  and  her 
under-clothing  becoming  in  tatters,  she  was  half  naked. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

MARIE    ANTOINETTE    FINDS    PEACE    AT    LAST. 

Marie  Antoinette  in  her  last  prison,  however,  was 
not  without  pitying  friends.  The  fierce  communists  ordered 
that  she  should  drink  the  water  of  the  Seine,  drawn  as  it 


350  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

flowed  past  her  prison-walls ;  but  an  honest  couple,  named 
Bault,  obtained  the  posts  of  chief  gaolers  at  the  Concierge- 
rie,  in  the  full  aim  of  assuaging  the  Queen's  wretchedness. 
Instead  of  Seine  water,  the  poor  prisoner  found  daily  in 
her  cell  refreshing  draughts  of  water  drawn  from  that  well 
at  Versailles  which  was  the  Queen's  chief  cellar.  She  was 
a  great  water  drinker. 

Madame  Bault,  to  affect  hai'shness,  never  entered  the 
Princess's  cell,  asserting  that  to  do  so  was  to  be  contamin- 
ated. The  royal  tradespeople  of  former  da}7s — especially 
the  fruit-women — brought  little  offerings  secretly  ;  and  so 
it  came  about  that  the  Queen,  in  her  last  prison  and  days, 
ate  such  pare,  simple  meals  as  those  which  had  been  her 
favorite  food  in  the  old  days — a  piece  of  melon,  a  handful 
of  figs,  a  little  bread  and  a  glass  of  water  from  her  favorite 
well. 

The  two  gowns  which  the  Queen  possessed— one  white, 
the  other  black, — and  which  she  wore  alternately,  soon  fell 
to  pieces  in  the  damp  prison.  Her  underclothing  was 
always  damp  when  put  on,  and  often  her  shoes  would  be 
completely  wet  ;  for  between  her  and  the  river  there  was 
only  the  part  protection  of  a  wall. 

Human  nature  demands  some  work.  Not  allowed  writing 
or  sewing  materials  (Bault's  daughter  mended  the  Queen's 
tatters,  and  gave  away  the  little  fragments  which  she  cut 
away  in  the  process  as  relics  of  the  poor  lad}'),  with  a  pin 
she  scratched  her  thoughts  upon  the  driest  portion  of  the 
walls  of  her  prison.  After  her  death  many  of  these  sen- 
tences were  copied  by  one  of  the  commissioners.  They 
were  mostly  German  and  Italian  verses  bearing  reference 
to  her  fate,  and  little  Latin  verses  from  the  Psalms.  No 
French  did  she  use,  for  she  had  been  brought  into  the  land 
where  that  language  was  spoken  to  be  cast  into  prison,  and 
to  suffer  death.  The  drier  walls  were  covered  with  these 
mute  appeals. 

Some  idea  may  be  gained  of  the  cruelty  exercised 
towards  the  desolate  prisoner,  when  she,  asking  for  a  lighter 
coverlet,  and  Bault  forwarding  the  request  to  a  high  author- 
ity, the  latter  received  this  reply: — 

"  Take  care !  Another  sign  of  sympathy  such  as  that, 
and  }'ou  will  visit  the  guillotine  before  she  does  !  " 

Another  shape  of  industry  did  the  poor  Queen  find.     She 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  351 

wished  to  leave  her  daughter  a  memento  of  her  last  days, 
and  she  had  nothing  to  give;  SO  she  ((inverted  a  couple  of 
bone  toothpicks  into  knitting  needles,  pulled  .some  worsted 
shreds  from  the  heavy  old  coverlet  which  they  refused  to 
replace  with  a  lighter,  and  knitted  a — garter.  This  she 
dropped  near  the  friendly  Bault,  who,  with  the  heart  of  a 
father,  understanding  the  pom-  little  hit  of  workmanship, 
let  fall  his  handkerchief,  and  so  possessed  himself  of  the 
little  treasure.  After  her  death  the  tribute  reached  the 
young  Princess  for  whom  it  was  worked — truly  a  message 
from  the  grave. 

A  few  days  hefore  her  trial,  an  order,  possessed  by  some- 
thing of  mercy,  arrived,  by  force  of  which  she  was  relieved 
from  the  continuous  stare  of  the  guard  set  to  watch  her. 
By  this  relief,  she  was  enabled  to  kneel,  from  which  act  she 
had  been  warned  throughout  her  confinement. 

On  October  13th,  Fouquier-Tinville  notified  to  Marie 
Antoinette  the  fact  of  her  having  been  indicted  for  high 
treason. 

She  listened  to  the  reading  of  the  indictment  as  though 
,to  a  death-warrant — the  shape,  in  fact,  it  really  took. 

As  a  maiter  of  form,  she  chose  two  counsel  for  her  de- 
fence— men  who  had  secretly  sought  the  appointment,  and 
who,  afterwards,  of  course,  paid  for  their  pity  with  their 
lives. 

On  the  14th,  at  noon,  she  made  as  elegant  a  toilette  as 
she  could — hid  the  rags  and  the  patchiness  of  her  white 
hair  as  much  as  possible,  and  went  up  the  stone  stairs  of 
her  dungeon  to  the  judgment-hall  above  her  prison.  The 
passages  were  full  of  people,  wdio  reviled  her  as  .-lie  passed 
along.  She  bore  her  head  well  up,  but  she  could  not 
change  the  fallen  mouth,  the  pinched  nose,  tarnished  eyes, 
and  shrunken,  weakened  body.  But  the  black  circles 
round  those  eyes  artificial^*  increased  their  failing  brillian- 
cy, and  they  fired  glances  of  scorn  and  fearlessness  at  her 
gibing  enemies.  She  had  never  possessed  the  humble, 
religious  feeling  and  sweet  patience  which  distinguished 
Louis.  A  perfectly  pure  woman,  at  heart,  she  was  some- 
what of  a  Voltairean  ;  she  despised  death,  and  feared  no 
power.  We  are  as  we  are  made  ;  so,  in  her  final  trial,  she 
met  the  scowls  of  the  people,  chiefly  of  women,  face  to  face. 
Some  authorities  say  that  one  girl  uttered  a  cry  of  pity  as 


352  LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 

the  Queen  passed — she  was  strangled.  These  unsexed 
wretches  had  undertaken  to  accompany  the  Queen  to  the 
scaffold  with  every  possible  indignity. 

And  she  stands  before  her — judges. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  I  am  called  Marie  Antoinette,  of  Lorraine,  in  Austria," 
she  replies,  in  a  low,  musical  voice. 

"  Your  condition  ?  " 

"  Widow  of  Louis,  formerly  King  of  the  French." 

"  Your  age  ?  " 

"Thirty-seven." 

Fouquier-Tinville  now  read  the  indictment.  It  was  the 
summing  up  of  all  her  declared  crimes  of  high  birth,  condi- 
tion, and  rank.  She  was  quite  guilty  of  all  these  things. 
The  chief  accusations  were  merel}7  echoes  of  all  that  had 
been  whispered  of  her  in  the  foulest  places.  She  was 
accused  of  prodigality,  licentiousness,  and  treason  to 
Prance. 

She  showed  no  sign  of  emotion,  beyond  an  unheeded 
movement  of  the  fingers  over  the  bar  of  a  chair,  as  though 
they  were  recalling  some  half-forgotten  music. 

She  answered  all  questions  quite  patiently,  showed  sorrow 
only  when  reference  was  made  to  the  Princess  de  Lamballe, 
and  only  lost  her  quietude  when  one  Hebert  was  called. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  this  man  was  mad.  At  all  events,  he 
spoke  to  the  Queen's  acts  while  in  the  Temple;  declared 
that  she  was  depraved  and  debauched,  and  that  she  had 
even  corrupted  her  own  son,  "  that  she  might  poison  his 
body  and  his  soul,  and  so  reign  in  his  name  over  the  ruin 
of  his  understanding. 

This  man  was  mad — there  can  be  no  doubt  upon  the 
point:  he  even  included  saintly  Madame  Elizabeth  in  this 
frantic  idiotic  accusation. 

Heaven  be  thanked,  those  present  turned  upon  him,  and 
cried  "  Shame  !  "  The  Queen  herself  shrank,  raising  her 
hand  as  though  to  guard  her  from  the  wretch. 

But  one  juryman  was  nearlj^as  bad  as  Hebert. 

"  Why  does  not  the  accused  answer  ?  "  this  foul  wretch 
asked. 

"  I  do  not  answer,"  she  said — and  once  again,  it  is  said, 
she  looked  radiantly  beautiful  in  her  momentary  indigna- 
tion— "  because  these  are  accusations  to  which  nature  refuses 
a  reply." 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  353 

She  turned  to  the  women,  with  whom  the  court  was 
crowded. 

"  I  appeal  from  him  to  all  mothers  present." 

To  the  honor  of  these  women  lie  it  said,  they  cried  He- 
hert  down — and  so  he  passes  out  of  this  history. 

The  Queen  met  questions  having  reference  to  the  King 
with  equal  calmness.  It  being  alleged  that  she  endeavored 
to  obtain  ascendancy  over  him  through  his  mental  weak- 
ness, she  replied,  "  I  never  knew  that  character  of  him.  I 
was  but  his  wife,  and  it  was  my  duty  and  my  pleasure  to 
yield  to  his  will." 

By  not  one  word,  tending  to  save  herself,  did  she  injure 
the  memory  of  her  husband. 

One  line  in  the  trial  is  enough  to  show  what  a  mockery 
it  was. 

The  Public  Prosecutor  cried,  "  All  France  bears  witness 
against  this  woman  !  " 

Fur  form's  sake,  the  jury  deliberated  an  hour.  She  was 
recalled  to  hear  her  sentence,  but  the  cheering  and  scream- 
ing of  the  people  told  her  its  terrors  before  the  judge  spoke 
—death  ! 

Nine  months  since  the  King  died,  and  now  there  was  an 
end  to  her  weary  waiting. 

Asked  if  she  had  anything  to  say  why  the  sentence  of 
death  should  not  be  carried  out,  she  respected  herself  in 
her  very  silence,  and  turned  away,  as  though  quite  prepar- 
ed for  execution. 

It  was  now  five  in  the  morning,  and  her  last  day  was 
come.  At  half-past  five  she  was  permitted  to  write  a  letter 
to  the  King's  sister,  Madame  Elizabeth.  This  lady  never 
saw  it.  The  document  was  found  long  afterwards  amongst 
the  papers  of  one  Couthon. 

u  I  write  to  you,  my  sister,"  she  begins,  "  for  the  last 
time.  I  have  been  condemned,  not  to  an  ignominious 
death — that  only  awaits  criminals — but  to  go  and  rejoin 
your  brother.  Innocent  as  he,  1  hope  to  show  such  firm- 
ness as  the  King's  in  his  last  moments.  I  grieve  bitterly 
at  leaving  my  poor  children.  You  know  that  I  lived  but 
for  them  and  you — you  who,  in  your  love,  have  sacrificed 
all  for  us.  I  learnt,  at  my  trial,  that  j*ou  are  separated 
from  my  little  girl.  In  what  a  position  I  leave  you  !  I 
22  • 


354  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

dare  not  write  to  her;  they  would  not  give  her  my  letter, 
and,  indeed,  I  do  not  know  that  you  will  receive  this." 

Some  words  of  this  final  letter  are  inexpressibly  touching. 
"  Let  my  son  never  forget  his  father's  last  words.  Let  him 
never  seek  to  avenge  our  deaths  !  " 

She  then  goes  on  to  apologize  for  the  child's  possible  con- 
duct to  her,  after  the  influence  over  him  necessarily  obtained 
by  Simon,  his  tutor,  and  meekly  she  urges  that  he  is  so 
young  he  is  incapable  of  knowing  what  he  does. 

"  Think  of  me  always,"  she  says,  in  conclusion.  "  Good 
heaven,  and  my  children !  How  heart-rending  it  is  to 
leave  them  for  ever — for  ever  !  " 

This  letter  being  finished,  she  kissed  each  page  lovingly, 
and  folded  it. 

So  far,  the  Republic  had  not  entirely  declared  against 
high  heaven,  and  priests  were  still  recognised  by  those  who 
had  subscribed  to  the  articles  of  the  Revolution,  and  one  of 
these  men  was  offered  to  Marie  Antoinette  to  aid  her  in  her 
last  moments.  She  refused  to  see  him.  The  Convention 
(still  sitting)  insisted  upon  one  of  these  officials  aecompan}'- 
ing  her  to  the  scaffold.  There  was  no  devotion  amongst 
them.  All  hesitated,  for  all  feared  that  the  Queen  would 
be  torn  to  pieces  on  her  wa}'  to  the  scaffold. 

One  proffered  his  help. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  Queen  ;  "  I  have  no  need  of 
your  services,  though  I  am  a  great  sinner.  But  I  am  about 
to  receive  a  great  sacrament." 

"  Madyrdom,"  said  the  priest,  in  a  low  voice ;  and  he 
bowed  and  retired. 

She  prayed  alone. 

However,  she  had  been  secretly  informed  that  at  a  cer- 
tain house  on  her  way  to  execution  a  minister  would  be 
stationed,  who  would  give  her  absolution  as  she  passed  in 
the  cart. 

She  dressed  herself  in  the  white  gown,  put  a  white  cap 
on,  bound  with  a  black  ribbon — and  so  came  before  the  peo- 
ple. 

Then  she  drew  back — her  queendom  still  remained.  She 
had  not  thought  the  people  so  fallen  that  she  should  be 
taken  to  the  scaffold  in  the  common  cart.  The  King  had 
been  taken  to  death  at  least  in  such  a  vehicle  as  he  had 
been  accustomed  to. 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  355 

Alas  !  When  Louis  died  all  pity  had  expired  ;  with  her 
death,  all  France  was  to  gasp  with  thirst  for  blood. 

She  mounted  the  cart — her  hands  having  been  bound  be- 
hind her,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  raging  crowd.  The  cart 
swayed,  and  she  could  scarcely  keep  her  seat  on  the  plank. 

She  grew  red  and  pale  by  turns,  as  she  was  dragged 
through  the  mob.  The  patience  and  pit}'  exhibited  by  the 
King  she  could  not  imitate.  Her  lips  were  bitter  each 
moment ;  but  she  never  took  her  dry,  hot  eyes  from  the 
raging  people. 

Suddenly,  her  head  falls  humbly,  and,  her  hands  being 
tied,  she  makes  the  sign  of  the  cross  by  three  motions  of 
the  head. 

Her  pride  had  passed  with  that  unseen  blessing  from 
the  house  on  her  way  to  execution.  When  the  Palace  of 
the  Tuileries  came  in  view — the  place  where  she  had  spent 
nearly  half  her  life — tears  fell  down  her  face. 

A  few-  turns  of  the  wheels,  and  she  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
scaffold. 

Reaching  the  place,  accidentally  she  trod  upon  one  of  the 
executioners'  feet. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  said,  in  a  sweet,  courtly  voice. 

She  knelt  for  an  instant,  rose,  stretched  her  neck  towards 
the  distant  towers  of  the  Temple,  and  cried,  "  Good-bye, 
my  children!     I  am  going  to  your  father." 

She  did  not,  like  her  husband,  speed  to  Heaven.  It  was 
rather  that  she  fled  from  earth. 

The  executioner  was  trembling  more  than  his  victim,  so 
that  she  suffered  a  long  agony  of  a  few  moments  after  she 
was  upon  the  plank. 

The  assistant  executioner  took  his  brother's  place. 

The  head  fell.  It  was  taken  up  and  carried  around  the 
scaffold. 

"Long  live  the  Rejjublic !  "  saluted  this  brave  display. 

The  Revolution  thought  itself  avenged — it  was  befouled. 

She  came  a  foreigner — and  they  killed  her. 

Thus  she  died.  Frivolous  in  prosperity,  she  died  with 
intrepidity.  Her  misfortune  was  her  mistrust  of  the  peo- 
ple in  her  early  days — her  catastrophe,  that  all  the  sin  and 
wickedness  of  the  Court  was  laid  to  her  account. 

Called  upon  to  fill  a  throne,  those  who  called  her  gave  her 
not  even  a  tomb — for  you  may  read  in  a  parish  register, 
"For  the  coffin  of  the  il'idocv  Capet,  six  shillings  !  " 


356  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

With  her  life,  France  threw  away  all  Christian  mercy. 
Crimson  swept  over  the  breadth  and  length  of  the  land. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

THE     TWENTY-TWO. 

The  twenty-two  had  literally  been  under  the  control  of 
the  police,  though  not  arrested,  since  May  31st.  But  as 
events  progressed,  their  destruction  became  almost  necessary 
to  the  safety  of  those  members  of  the  Convention,  who, 
obtaining  power  wholly  through  the  will  of  the  more 
violent,  could  only  retain  it  by  a  perfect  recognition  of  the 
will  of  those  who  had  given  them  the  victory. 

The  twenty-two  were  therefore  seized,  and  placed  in  a 
building  coverted  from  a  convent  into  a  prison,  and  here 
they  made  full  preparations  to  die. 

To  this  day,  the  walls  of  this  place  may  be  seen  covered 
with  mementoes  of  the  prison-days  of  the  victims  of  the 
Revolution.  They  are  chiefly  short  verses,  written  in 
blood,  the  purple  hues  of  which  many  of  the  inscriptions 
still  retain. 

A  few  days  after  the  Queen's  day  of  peace  arrived,  their 
trial  commenced. 

Of  what  were  they  accused? 

Really,  nothing  ;  but  they  were  in  the  way,  and  a  threat- 
ening division  of  the  masses  insisted  upon  their  death. 

After  four  days'  mockery  of  justice,  the  twenty-two  were 
declared  guilty  of  having  conspired  against  the  unity  and 
indivisibility  of  the  republic,  and  the  whole  were  condemn- 
ed to  die. 

A  cry  of  horror  burst  from  the  condemned,  for  many  of 
them  could  not  believe  that  innocent  men  could  be  sent  to 
the  scaffold. 

Valase,  one  of  the  youngest,  slipped  from  his  seat  to  the 
floor. 

"  What,  Valase  !  art  losing  courage  now  ?  "  cried  his 
friend  Brissot,  upholding  him. 

"  No  j  I  am  dying !  "  returned  Valase ;  and  his  fingers 


LOVE     AND    LIBERTY.  357 

quivered  about  the  handle  of  the  poniard  with  which  he 
had  taken  his  own  life. 

Silent  horror  for  a  moment  prevailed;  the  Girondists 
blushed  and  bowed  their  heads  before  their  dead  compan- 
ion, who  had  given  them  an  example  of  fearlessness  in 
meeting  death. 

Only  one,  named  Boileau,  showed  cowardice.  He  cast 
his  hat  into*  the  air  and  screamed,  "  I  don't  belong  to  these 
men  !     I  am  a  Jacobin  !  " 

But  instead  of  pit}'  he  only  gained  contempt. 

Aud  now  a  cry  was  heard ;  it  came  from  Camille  Des- 
moulins  :  "Let  me  fly,"  he  cried;  "it  is  my  book  which 
has  killed  them  !  " 

But  the  crowd  seized  Desmoulins,  and  forced  him  to  re- 
main. 

The  twenty-two  came  down  from  the  high  seats  upon 
which  they  had  heard  their  trial  and  sentence,  and  for  a 
moment  stood  round  the  dead  body  of  their  friend,  who  had 
shown  them  how  to  die.  Almost  simultaneously  they 
raised  their  hands  and  cried,  "  Innocent !  Long  live  the 
republic ! " 

Then  they  cast  all  the  money  they  had  with  them 
amongst  the  crowding,  storming  people,  who  greedily  seized 
it.  This  was  done,  not  to  excite  the  mob  to  revolt,  but 
with  the  thought  that,  their  death  at  hand,  they  had  no 
farther  need  of  wealth. 

There  was  something  strangely  classic  and  Roman-like 
in  their  death.  They  left  the  hall  singing  loudly  the  cele- 
brated hymn,  the  "Marseillaise;"  and  in  reference  to 
their  death,  they  sang  with  amazing  power  the  celebrated 
two  lines, 

"  March  on,  march  on !    O  children  of  the  land, 
The  day,  the  hour  of  glory,  is  at  hand  I " 

This  terrible  lrvmn  they  were. still  singing  as  they  enter- 
ed their  prison.  It  was  now  late  in  the  evening,  and  they 
were  to  suffer  on  the  following  morning. 

The  tribunal  had  decreed  that  the  yet  warm  corpse  of 
Valase  should  be  carried  back  to  prison,  conveyed  in  the 
same  cart  with  his  accomplices  to  the  scaffold,  and  interred 
with  their  bodies.  The  only  sentence,  perhaps,  which  pun- 
ished the  dead. 


358 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 


Four  men-at-arms  carried  the  body  upon  a  litter,  and 
thus  the  procession  reached  the  prison. 

The  twenty-two  were  to  pass  the  night  in  the  same 
room,  the  corpse  in  one  corner.  The  twenty-one — even 
Boileau,  who  repented  of  his  momentary  cowardice — came, 
one  by  one,  and  kissed  the  dead  man's  hand,  then  covered 
his  face,  saying,  "To-morrow,  brother!" 

One  Bailleul,  a  Girondist  and  a  Conventionist,  but  who 
had  escaped  the  proscription,  yet  had  not  left  Paris,  liad 
promised  that,  after  the  trial,  he  would  prepare  and  send  to 
the  prison,  either  a  triumphant  or  a  funereal  supper,  accord- 
ing to  the  sentence. 

The  promise  was  kept.  Upon  the  oaken  table,  stretch- 
ing the  length  of  their  dungeon  was  set  out  a  supper,  royal 
in  its  magnificence.  Every  luxury  to  be  obtained,  every 
delicate  wine  with  a  name,  filled  those  portions  of  the 
table  not  covered  by  a  wealth  of  flowers  and  great  clusters 
of  brilliantly  burning  wax  candles. 

To  one  Abbe  Lambert,  who  lived  fifty  years  after  that 
night,  we  owe  ail  we  have  learnt  concerning  that  final  meal. 
This  minister  was  waiting  to  offer  consolation  to  the  con- 
demned as  they  passed  to  the  scaffold. 

The  supper  lasted  from  midnight  until  the  dawn  of  day 
— at  the  end  of  October,  about  half-past  five.  It  was  the 
feast  of  their  marriage  with  death.  ]STo  sign  was  given  of 
their  approaching  end.  All  ate  with  sobriety,  but  with 
appetite  ;  and  it  was  only  when  the  fruit  and  wine  alone 
remained  on  the  table  that  the  conversation  became  excited 
and  powerful. 

Many,  especially  the  younger  men,  who  did  not  leave 
families  behind  them,  were  very  gay  and  witty.  They 
had  done  no  great  wrrong,  and  were  sacrificed  to  duty, 
therefore  they  met  death  with  cheerful  faces. 

With  solemn  break  of  day,  the  conversation  became 
graver. 

Brissot  cried,  "  now  that  we,  the  honest  men  amongst 
those  who  govern,  are  about  to  die,  what  will  become  of  the 
republic  ?  How  much  blood  will  it  require  to  wash  away 
the  memory  of  ours  ?  " 

"Friends,"  cried  Vergniaud,  "we  have  killed  the  tree 
by  over-pruning  it.  It  was  aged — Robespierre  cuts  it 
down.     Will  he  be  more  fortunate  than  ourselves  ?     No ; 


LOVE     AND    LIBERTY.  359 

the  land  of  France  is  now  too  weak  for  honest  growth. 
The  people  play  with  laws  as  children  with  toys  ;  they  are 
too  weak  to  govern  themselves  ;  and  they  will  return  to 
their  kings  as  children  to  their  toys,  after  they  are  tired  of 
having  thrown  them  away.  We  thought  ourselves  at 
Rome  ;  we  were  in  Paris.  But,  in  dying,  let  us  leave  to 
the  whole  of  France — the  strength  of  hope.  Some  day — 
some  great  day — she  will  be  able  to  govern  herself." 

At  ten  o'clock  the  executioners  arrived  to  prepare  the 
victims  for  the  scaffold.  Gensome,  picking  up  a  lock  of  the 
black,  brilliant  hair  cut  from  his  head,  gave  it  to  Abbe 
Lambert,  and  begged  him  to  carry  it  to  his  wife.  "  Tell 
her,"  he  said,  "  it  is  all  I  can  send,  and  that  I  die  thinking 
of  her." 

Vergniaud  drew  his  watch  from  his  poeket,  scratched  his 
initials  and  the  date  in  it  with  a  pin,  and  sent  it  by  the 
hands  of  one  of  the  executioners'  assistants  to  a  young  girl 
whom  he  loved  deeply,  and  whom  it  is  said  he  intended  to 
marry. 

Every  one  sent  a  something  to  some  one  or  more  in  mem- 
ory of  himself,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  state  that 
every  message  and  remembrance  were  faithfully  delivered. 

When  the  last  lock  of  hair  had  fallen,  the  victims  were 
marshalled,  and  they  were  led  out  to  the  carts  waiting  to 
receive  them. 

They  sang  the  "Marseillaise"  to  the  scaffold — they  sang 
it  when  they  reached  it,  the  song  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  as  each  head  fell  ;  and  the  hymn  only  ceased,  as  the 
last  head  fell — that  of  their  leader,  Vergniaud. 

The  dead  body  of  their  friend  was  carried  with  them. 

Such  was  the  end  of  the  founders  of  the  French  repub- 
lic. 

With  them  the  brightness,  beanty,  youth,  wit,  frankness 
of  the  Convention  passed  away,  and  their  places  were  filled 
by  sullen,  threatening  men. 


360  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

CHAPTER  LXL 

THE    BED    FLAG. 

The  first  to  fall  was  the  Due  of  Orleans  (father  of  Louis 
Philippe,  King  of  the  French),  He  had  clone  nothing 
against  the  interests  of  the  republic,  but  his  birth  was  a 
crime,  and  his  death  was  decided  on. 

The  Prince  and  his  sons  were  at  table  when  the  fatal 
indictment  arrived. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  he.  "  This  must  end  one 
way  or  the  other.  Kiss  me,  children.  And  I  wonder  of 
what  they  accuse  me  ?  "  he  said,  opening  the  paper.  "  The 
scoundrels  ! "  he  added ;  "  they  accuse  me  of  nothing. 
Come,  boys,  eat ;  for  this  summons  is  indeed  good  news." 

He  was  taken  to  Paris,  where,  at  this  time,  no  man  of 
mark,  being  put  upon  his  trial,  escaped  the  guillotine. 

The  one  plausible  accusation  brought  against  Orleans 
must  have  compressed  his  heart. 

"  Did  you  not  vote  the  King's  death  in  the  hope  of  suc- 
ceeding to  his  throne  ?  " 

"No;  I  obeyed  my  heart  and  my  conscience." 

He  heard  his  sentence  calml}',  despite  the  fact  of  his 
cowardice  in  his  early  years ;  and  he  replied  sarcastically  to 
his  judges,  "  Since  you  were  determined  to  condemn  me, 
you  should  have  found  better  pretexts  than  you  have  ;  for, 
as  it  is,  you  will  deceive  no  man  into  believing  that  you 
think  me  guilty.  I  am  in  the  way.  And  you  too,"  he 
said,  turning  to  a  once  Marquis  d'Autonelle,  an  old  friend, 
— "you  to  condemn  me  !  Finally,"  he  continued,  "  since  I 
am  to  die,  I  demand  not  to  be  left  in  gaol  a  whole  night, 
but  to  be  at  once  taken  to  the  block." 

This  desire  was  not  complied  with.  Returning  to  the 
gaol,  his  rage  was  terrible. 

The  Abbe  Lambert  approached  and  said,  "  Citizen 
Equality,  will  you  accept  my  assistance,  or,  at  least,  the 
offer  of  my  condolence  ?  " 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  The  Vicar-General  of  the  Bishop  of  Paris.  If  you 
will  not  accept  my  religious  help,  can  I  be  of  any  service  to 
you  after  your  death  ?     Have  you  messages  to  send  ?  " 


LOVE      AND     LIBERTY.  361 

"No;  I  can  die  without  help,  and  like  a  good  citizen." 

He  went  to  the  place  of  execution  at  three,  accompanied 
by  three  others. 

Reaching  the  scaffold,  he  looked  at  the  knife  calmly ; 
and  the  executioner  offering  to  remove  his  boots,  he  said, 
"  You  will  do  it  more  easily  afterwards." 

He  was  dressed  very  beautifully  for  his  death,  and  he 
died  without  fear.  He  had  followed  the  Revolution  blindly 
— had  thrown  away  fortune,  name,  reputation,  in  its  cause, 
and  it  destroyed  him  simply  because  he  had  belonged  to 
royalty. 

Terror  was  rapidly  reddening  all  the  land. 

The  guillotine  was  not  quick  enough,  and  squads  of 
soldiers  shot  down  the  condemned. 

Such  sentences  as  the  following,  were  accepted  as 
truths  : — 

"  The  time  is  come  when  the  prophecy  shall  be  fulfilled. 
The  wealthy  shall  be  despoiled,  and  the  poor  shall  be 
enriched. 

"If  the  people  want  bread,  let  them  profit  by  the  sight 
of  their  misery,  to  seize  on  the  possessions  of  the  wealthy. 

"  Do  you  seek  a  word  which  furnishes  all  you  need  ? — 
die,  or  cause  others  to  die." 

The  great  Terror  began  at  Lyons. 

"  The  great  day  of  vengance  has  arrived,"  cried  one 
Cholier.  "Five  hundred  men  amongst  us  deserve  to  share 
the  fate  of  the  tyrant.  I  will  give  you  the  list — be  it  your 
part  to  strike  !  " 

He  then  seized  a  crucifix,  dashed  it  upon  the  ground, 
and  trampled  upon  it. 

Here  is  another  theory  which  was  applauded  : — 

"  Any  man  can  be  an  executioner — it  is  the  guillotine 
which  really  takes  life." 

This  Cholier,  who  had  trampled  upon  the  crucifix,  clung 
to  it  when  condemned  to  the  death  he  was  always  seeking 
for  others.  The  knife  was  blunt,  and  five  times  it  was 
raised  before  the  head  fell.  "Quick — quick!"  the  wretch 
cried,  when  it  was  raised  for  the  fifth  time. 

Some  time  after,  when  the  Terror  was  rising  to  its  height, 
Cholier  was  looked  upon  as  a  martyr;  his  body  was  burnt, 
and  the  ashes  placed  in  an  urn,  were  carried  triumphantly 
through  the  streets,  and  placed  upon  an  altar  of  patriotism 
raised  to  him. 


362  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

The  altar  in  question  was  soon  thrown  down. 

But  only  after  the  Terror  ended. 

With  Cholier's  after-death  triumph,  the  "  moderates " 
began  to  fall.  Ten  of  the  municipals  of  Lyons  (the"  place 
of  Cholier's  exploits)  were  beheaded  in  one  day,  and  a  mine 
was  exploded  which  destix>yed  the  finest  parts  of  the  city. 

Lyons  was  almost  annihilated.  At  a  cost  of  half  a  mill- 
ion of  nrione}'  (English),  houses  worth  twelve  millions  were 
destroyed.  Why  ?  France  was  mad.  So  hurriedly  was 
this  destruction  effected,  that  hundreds  of  the  workmen 
themselves  were  buried  in  the  ruins. 

Life,  however,  was  cheap. 

Rags  only  were  to  be  seen — a  decent  dress  was  equiva- 
lent to  condemnation.  The  city  was  dead  but  for  the  thun- 
der of  fallen  houses,  the  roar  of  cannon  and  the  rattle  of 
musketry  mowing  down  suspected  people,  and  the  shrill  cry 
of  the  ragged  as  they  marked  another  head  fall  beneath  the 
guillotine  knife.  It  was  now  looked  upon  as  a  distinction, 
and  reserved  onty  for  important  people. 

An  entire  generation  was  destroyed  in  Lyons  alone. 
Great  houses  were  unowned — for  their  owners  were  dead. 
Castles,  churches,  factories,  work-shops,  were  closed,  for 
their  heads  had  all  passed  under  the  guillotine. 

Starvation  increased,  for  the  land  lay  a-djdng. 

The  guillotine  was  getting  old  and  worn-out  at  Lyons. 

One  morning,  sixty-four  are  marched  out  to  death.  They 
are  bound,  and  ranged  in  a  line  before  an  open  trench. 
Three  pieces  of  cannon,  loaded  with  bullets,  sweep  the 
ranks.  Not  half  are  touched.  "Forward!"  is  the  word 
given  to  the  dragoons,  who  hack  and  shoot  down  the 
victims.     This  lasts  two  whole  hours. 

Nine  hundred  and  thirty  executioners,  in  the  shape  of 
an  entire  regiment,  were  to  send  their  victims,  marshalled 
in  a  row,  into  eternity  at  the  same  moment.  At  the  order 
"  Fire! "  four  bullets  struck  at  the  life  of  the  victims,  all  of 
whom  are  tied  to  a  rope  stretched  from  tree  to  tree. 

Strange — when  the  smoke  arose,  only  half  were  found 
dead.  The  rest  remained  either  wounded  or  untouched. 
The  unscathed  stared  in  horror;  the  wounded  screamed  to 
be  despatched. 

The  soldiers  could  not  fire  again.  Some  of  the  prisoners 
had  freed  themselves,  and  were  escaping.     The  dragoons 


LOVE     AND      LIBERTY.  363 

were  ordered  forward  to  cut  them  down.  The  victims  were 
killed  piece-meal.  One  man,  a  mayor  of  his  town,  readied 
the  river,  hut  there  his  bleeding  hand  betrayed  him,  and 
he  was  cast  into  the  river. 

The  soldiers  protested  against  the  use  to  which  they 
were  put.  The  massacres  lasted  until  night-fall.  Yet 
when  the  grave-diggers  came  next  morning,  some  hearts 
still  beat.  The  sextons  put  the  martyrs  out  of  their  misery 
at  once  by  blows  on  the  head  with  their  pickaxes. 

"  We  are  purging  the  land,"  wrote  Collet  d'Herbois  to 
the  Convention. 

Every  day  twenty-two  were  regularly  shot.  By  this 
time,  the  fear  of  life  rendered  death  sweet.  Girls,  men, 
children,  prayed  that  they  might  be  shot  with  their  parents. 
Sometimes  they  permitted  this,  and  little  boys  and  girls 
were  shot,  holding  their  father's  hands. 

Women  who  were  seen  to  shed  tears  at  executions,  were 
shot. 

Mourning  was  prohibited  under  pain  of  death. 

One  lad  of  fourteen,  says,  "  Quick — quick  !  You  have 
killed  papa  !     I  want  to  overtake  him  ! " 

One  De  Kochefort*  was  accompanied  by  a  son  to  the 
butchering-ground,  whither  he  went  with  three  relatives. 
The  men  fell — the  boy,  aged  fifteen,  remained  standing. 

The  executioner  hesitated — the  people  murmured. 

"  God  save  the* King  !  "  cried  De  Kochefort. 

A  moment — a  report — he  fell,  shattered  to  death. 

A  lovely  girl,  fourteen,  is  brought  before  the  judge  for 
Musing  to  wear  the  national  cockade. 

"  Why  do  3?ou  refuse  to  wear  it  ?  "  asks  the  judge. 

"  Because  3'ou  do  !  "  replies  the  child. 

Her  beauty,  rather  than  justice,  pleading  for  her,  a  sign 
was  made  that  a  wreath  should  be  put  in  her  hair,  the 
emblem  of  liberation. 

She  cast  it  upon  the  ground.     She  died. 

A  man  came  to  the  Hall  of  Justice. 

"  You  have  slain  my  father,  ni}'  brothers,  my  wife — kill 
me.  My  religion  forbids  me  to  destroy  myself.  In  mercy, 
kill  me." 

In  mercy — they  killed  him. 

*  Grandfather  of  the  Henri  de  Kochefort  who  writes  the  Lan- 
terne. 


364  LOVE      AND     LIBERTY. 

A  woman,  who  had  fought  bravely  in  the  earlier  and 
fairer  time  of  the  Revolution,  was  carried  to  the  scaffold, 
though  about  to  become  a  mother.  She  did  not  fear  death 
— she  pleaded  for  the  other  life. 

She  was  laughed  at — hooted — and  so  died. 

A  girl  of  seventeen,  and  much  resembling  Charlotte 
Corda}7,  was  accused  of  having  served  as  an  artillerist  in 
the  trenches  of  the  forces  opposed  to  the  national  forces. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Mary ;  the  name  of  the  mother  of  the  God  for  whom  I 
am  about  to  die." 

"  Your  age  ?  " 

"  Seventeen  ;  the  age  of  Charlotte  Corday." 

"  How  ! — at  seventeen,  fight  against  your  country  ?  " 

"  I  fought  to  save  it." 

"  Citizen — we,  3rour  judges,  admire  your  courage.  What 
would  you  do  with  your  life  if  we  gave  it  you  ?  " 

"  Use  it  to  kill  you  !  " 

She  ascended  the  scaffold,  alarmed  at  the  crowd  of  people 
— fearless  of  death.  She  refused  the  executioners  help — 
cried  twice,  "  God  save  the  King  !  " — and  lay  down  to  die. 

After  her  death,  the  executioner  found  amongst  her  clothes 
a  note  written  in  blood.  It  was  from  her  lover,  who  had 
been  shot  some  days  before. 

The  lovers  were  only  separated  by  a  few  days.  Their 
history  touched  the  people,  but  the  people  of  that  day  did 
not  know  how  to  pardon. 

These  awful  executions  were  at  last  arrested,  not  because 
the  victims  were  exhausted,  but  because  the  soldiers  threw 
down  their  arms  and  positively  refused  any  longer  to  play 
the  shameful  parts  of  executioners. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  tyrant-liberator  of  the  oppressed 
republic,  now  rose  to  his  first  distinction. 

The  English  were  in  possession  of  Toulon.  Admiral 
Hood  was  preparing  to  flood  France  with  English  red-coats. 

Within  a  week  Bonaparte  had  compelled  the  English  tc 
retire,  but  not  before  they  had  destroyed  the  arsenal  and 
the  whole  of  the  French  navy. 

On  the  beach,  fifteen  thousand  refugees  from  various 
parts  of  France  sought  to  get  away  to  the  combined  English 
and  Spanish  fleets. 

A  storm  arose  in  the  midst  of  this  destruction.     Seven 


LOVE     AND     LIBERTY.  365 

thousand  were  rescued  from  the  vengeance  of  the  Republi- 
can arms  ;  eight  thousand  perished. 

These  refugees  were  chiefly  carried  to  Leghorn,  where 
their  descendants  still  reside. 

The  Convention  ordered  that  Toulon  should  he  razed  to  the 
ground  for  having  submitted  to  the  English. 

This  frantic  order,  however,  was  not  carried  out. 

Napoleon  was  now  Emperor  of  Toulon.  Already  he 
disobeyed  orders,  and  rose  daily  to  power. 

Marat  had  risen  over  the  Girondists  and  Liberals,  Dan- 
ton  over  him  ;  Robespierre  was  to  destroy  Lanton,  but 
Napoleon  was  to  set  his  foot  upon  them  all,  and  command, 
until,  in  his  turn,  in  1815,  he  was  to  succumb. 


i  » ■ —  > 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

THE    BLOOD    OF     WOMEN. 

Madame  Roland  who  had  now  been  imprisoned  through 
five  long  months,  was  the  next  celebrated  victim  demanded 
by  the  people.  She  had  conquered  her  weariness  by  writ- 
ing her  life. 

At  one  time,  she  sought  to  avoid  death  by  poison  ;  but 
the  memory  of  her  child  prevailed,  and  she  lived  on  to  the 
end. 

When  the  Girondists  fell,  she  knew  all  hope  of  life  for 
herself  was  at  an  end.  She  was  then  removed  to  the  prison 
whence  Marie  Antoinette  went  to  the  scaffold — nay,  she 
was  imprisoned  in  the  adjoining  cell ;  and  here  she  passed 
her  days,  watching  the  fragment  of  sky  she  could  see 
through  the  bars  of  her  prison,  or  admiring  the  little 
bunches  of  flowers  the  gaoler's  good-hearted  wife  sent  to 
her  dungeon  almost  daily. 

She  was  tried  for  being  the  wife  of  Roland,  and  the 
friend  of  the  Girondists.  She  was  proud  of  the  accusation, 
declared  herself  to  be  so,  and  she  heard  her  condemnation 
to  death  with  a  calm  bearing  and  a  smiling  face. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said,  "  that  you  think  me  worthy  to 
share  the  fate  of  great  and  good  men." 


366  LOVE    AND    LIBERTY. 

That  same  day  she  was  placed  in  the  last  of  a  numher  of 
carts,  her  only  companion  being  an  old  man.  Her  beauty 
was  more  than  radiant,  seated  so  near  trembling  age. 

She  wore  a  white  dress,  and  her  long  black  hair  streamed 
down  her  back. 

Near  the  scaffold  had  been  erected  a  colossal  statue  of 
Liberty.  When  she  ascended  the  scaffold,  she  bowed  to  the 
statue,  and  cried,  "  Oh  Liberty,  how  much  crime  is  commit- 
ted in  your  name  ! " 

But  she  had  shown  her  woman's  tenderness  at  the  foot  of 
the  scaffold.  She  said  to  her  companion,  "  Go  first,  that 
you  may  not  see  me  die.     Let  me  save  you  that  pain." 

She  died  quite  fearlessly. 

The  next  day,  some  peasants,  driving  home  their  flocks, 
found  the  dead  body  of  a  man,  a  sword-stick  blade  through 
his  heart.  The  position  of  the  remains  proved  suicide, 
effected  by  putting  the  sword-handle  against  a  tree,  when  the 
sufferer  flung  himself  upon  the  point.  A  paper  found  upon 
the  dead  man  contained  these  words  :  — 

"Whoever  thou  art  that  findest  these  remains,  respect 
them  as  those  of  a  virtuous  man.  After  my  wife's  death,  I 
will  not  remain  another  day  upon  this  earth,  so  stained 
with  crimes." 

This  was  Madame  Roland's  husband. 

Very  different  from  this  honest  woman's  death  was  that 
of  Madame  Dubarry,  mistress  of  Louis  XV.  Her  crime 
was  the  concealment  of  a  treasure.  As  a  King's  favorite, 
she  had  amassed  enormous  wealth.  Strangely  enough,  it 
was  a  favorite  of  her  own — a  negro  boy  she  had  adopted  — 
that  denounced  her.  She  was  condemned,  and  she  went 
shrieking  to  the  scaffold — the  only  instance  of  this  kind 
amongst  all  the  women  who  died  during  the  Reign  of  Terror. 

Her  beauty  was  her  crime. 

"  Life  !  "  she  cried.  "  Life  for  repentance — for  devotion 
to  the  Republic  !     All  my  treasures  for  a  little  life  !  " 

The  knife  only  cut  short  these  ignoble  cries. 

The  next  thing  done  was  the  abolition  of  the  name  of  the 
days  of  the  weeks  and  months  of  the  year,  because  they 
were  idolatrous. 

Finally,  the  Catholic  faith  was  abolished,  the  church  bells 
were  cast  into  money,  the  worship  of  the  Goddess  of  Rea- 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY.  367 

son,  was  proclaimed.  The  proclamation  was  carried  into 
effect  at  the  Cathedral.  An  actress,  one  Mdlle.  Maillard, 
beautiful,  talented,  and  a  favorite  of  the  late  Queen's,  was 
compelled  to  play  the  part  of  the  goddess. 

She  was  borne  into  the  church  (the  only  one  now  open  in 
all  Paris)  upon  a  kind  of  litter,  covered  with  oak  branches, 
and  followed  by  girls  dressed  in  white,  singing  jubilant 
songs.  About  the  altar  were  the  opera  choristers  and  others. 
The  actress  was  now  placed  upon  the  altar,  and  she  was 
worshipped  by  those  present.  The  Bishop  had  been  com- 
pelled to  appear,  and  he  sat  motionless  with  fear,  tears  of 
shame  coursing  down  his  face. 

The  burial  places  of  the  Kings  were  now  invaded.  The 
remains  of  a  thousand  years  of  kings  were  torn  from  the 
vaults  of  St.  Denis,  and  cast  into  the  country  ditches.  Noth- 
ing was  spared — anything  which  suggested  royalty,  was 
destroyed. 

Meanwhile,  Carrier,  at  Xantes,  surpassed  in  outrage  all 
that  had  gone  before  him.  It  was  charitable  to  suppose 
he  was  sheer  mad. 

Men,  women,  children,  and  especially  priests,  were  shot 
down  by  Carrier's  orders.  He  said  trial  was  useless.  His 
rivals  had  abandoned  the  guillotine  for  the  butchery  of  the 
soldier's  lead.  Carrier  improved  upon  this.  He  said  he 
hated  blood,  so  he  positively  sank  hundreds,  thousands  of 
accused,  in  huge  barges.  They  were  carried  down  to  the 
bottom,  and  there  to  this  day  the}'  remain. 

Carrier  was  the  deputy  sent  by  the  Convention,  of  which 
Robespierre  was  now  King, 

These  massacres  lasted  months.  Some  complaints  were 
sent  to  Paris.  Carrier  seized  two  hundred  of  the  principal 
merchants  of  the  place,  cast  them  into  prison,  tortured  them, 
and  then  drowned  the  men. 

At  last,  his  madness  becoming  apparent,  he  was  recalled. 
Robespierre  did  not  demand  his  punishment ;  and  this 
omission  of  justice  was  one  of  the  accusations  brought 
against  Robespierre  at  his  trial. 

A  woman  began  the  attack  upon  Robespierre.  She  was 
Rose  Lacombe,  beautiful,  eloquent,  revolutionary;  but 
pitying  and  hating  blood.  She  was  seized  with  love  for  a 
young  prisoner,  tried  to  save  him,  failed,  and  she  devoted 
herself  to  Robespierre's  death. 


368  LOVE     AND     LIBERTY. 

Robespierre,  to  retain  his  popularity,  determined  to 
sacrifice  Danton,  Cainille  Desnioulins,  and  others.  They 
fell — all  of  them. 

As  these  victims,  on  their  way  to  execution,  passed 
Duplay's  house,  the  shutters  of  which  were  closed,  the 
crowd  burst  into  a  roar  of  applause.  Robespierre  watching, 
trembled. 

A  very  short  span,  and  his  time  was  to  come. 

Herault  de  Sechelles  was  the  first  to  alight  from  the  cart. 
He  turned  to  embrace  Danton,  when  the  executioner 
pulled  him  away. 

"  Brute ! "  said  Danton  ;  "  but  you  cannot  prevent  our 
lips  touching  in  the  basket." 

Camille  Desmoulins  was  the  last  but  one  of  the  four. 
He  was  quite  resigned.  He  looked  at  the  knife,  then 
turning  to  the  people,  he  said,  "  Look  on  at  the  end  of  the 
first  apostle  of  liberty  !  He  who  murders  me  will  not 
survive  me  long  !  " 

"  Send  this  lock  of  hair  to  my  mother,"  he  said  to  the 
executioner. 

Thejr  were  his  last  words. 

Danton  ascended  last.  He  never  looked  more  haughty 
and  defiant.  For  one  moment  he  broke  down.  "  Wife  ! " 
he  screamed. 

Then  he  added,  "  Come,  come,  Danton ;  no  weakness. 
Executioner,  show  my  head  to  the  people  ;  it  is  worth 
looking  at ! " 

The  executioner  caught  the  head  as  it  was  falling,  and 
carried  it  round  the  scaffold. 

The  mob  applauded.     Such  is  the  end  of  favorites. 

Eight  thousand  people  were  awaiting  death  in  the  prisons 
of  Paris  alone,  within  a  month  of  Danton's  death. 

Robespierre  was  delicate  and  decent  in  his  power  and 
supreme  cruelty,  but  he  capped  all  his  compeers.  Men  and 
women  were  not  shot  or  drowned  in  Paris,  but  the  guillotine 
worked  unceasingly. 

Certain  children  had,  in  1791,  taken  part  in  receiving 
the  Prussian  General  at  Verdun.  They  were  all  brought 
to  Paris,  and  guillotined. 

The  nuns  of  Montmartre  were  carried,  abbess,  young 
girls,  and  old  women,  all  to  the  scaffold — for  praying  !     As 


LOVE      AND      LIBERTY. 


3G9 


the  Girondists  sang  their  hymns,  so  these  poor  women  sang 
theirs.     The  last  death  ended  the  last  note  of  this  hymn. 

It  was  thus  Robespierr* — now  alone  of  all  those  with 
whom  he  first  came  into  power — and  his  statellites  main- 
tained their  power. 

One,  and  only  one,  grown-up  scion  of  royalty  remained 
— Madame  Elizabeth. 

It  was  then  more  than  a  year  since  the  King  died.  She 
and  the  Princess  remained  together — deprived  even  of 
cards,  because  of  the  kings  and  queens  in  the  pack. 

As  for  the  Dauphin,  he  was  confined  in  a  iciem  the  bed 
of  which  he  never  left.  His  bread  was  thrown  to  him. 
No  one  ever  spoke  to  him,  and  his  clothes  had  not  been 
changed  for  nearly  twelve  months.  His  window  would  not 
open.  He  was  allowed  no  books,  paper,  or  playthings ;  in 
a  word,  he  was  brutalized  at  six  years  of  age.  His  limbs 
stiffened,  and  he  became  an  idiot,  in  which  state  he  died. 

The  aunt  and  sister  could  hear  nothing  about  the  child. 
They  were  treated  tolerably  well,  but  during  Lent  they 
were  only  given  fat  meat  to  eat.  This  their  consciences 
would  not  allow  them  to  touch,  and  for  forty  days  they  only 
ate  bread. 

The  summons  came  suddenly  at  night-time.  The  little 
Princess,  the  only  one  of  the  five  prisoners  of  the  Temple 
who  survived  the  Eeign  of  Terror,  wept,  clung  to  her  aunt 
— but  lost  her. 

Her  defence  was  very  simple: — "I  am  tried  because  I 
am  the  King's  sister.  You  call  him  a  tyrant.  Had  he 
been,  you  would  not  have  been  where  you  are ;  I  not  be 
where  I  am  !  " 

The  people  demanded  her  life,  and  they  obtained  it. 

The  very  women  who  generally  yelled  around  the  carts 
were  dumb,  as  this  serene,  angelic  woman  was  carried 
through  the  streets.  She  died  so  peacefully,  that  many 
envied  her. 


23 


370  LOVE    AND     LIBERTY. 

CHAPTER  LXIII. 

KOBES PIERRE     FALLS. 

Atheism  was  now  preached  openly. 

Robespierre  pronounced  in  favor  of  an  unknown  deity, 
and  in  so  magnificent  a  speech,  that  it  may  be  said  he  gave 
back  religion  to  France. 

But  his  time  had  come. 

"What  was  his  crime  in  the  eyes  of  his  accusers  ?  Un- 
popularity. 

One  night  he  is  addressing  the  Convention,  when  the 
uproar  is  so  incessant,  that  in  endeavoring  to  make  himself 
heard,  his  voice  fails  him. 

The  people  were  already  looking  towards  Napoleon — the 
man  of  the  sword,  not  of  the  tongue. 

Robespierre  fell  back  upon  silence,  but  he  was  always  to 
be  seen  at  his  place  at  the  Convention.  Hour  after  hour, 
friends  became  enemies. 

He  knew  he  was  condemned,  but  he  waited. 

Here  is  the  final  scene  : — 

Robespierre  and  his  friends,  St.  Just,  Couthon,  and 
Lebas,  seated  in  a  room  by  themselves,  hear  the  jingle  of 
approaching  soldiers.  Lebas  takes  one  of  a  couple  of 
pistols,  and  presents  it — "  Robespierre,  let  lis  die." 

"  No  ;  I  await  the  executioner,"  says  Robespierre,  and 
the  other  two  murmur  in  assent. 

The  sounds  come  nearer. 

A  report — and  Lebas  falls.  He  has  shot  himself  through 
the  heart. 

The  soldier-insurgents  swarm  into  the  room. 

"  Down  with  the  tyrant !     Where  is  he  ?  " 

These  were  the  cries  Robespierre  heard. 

He  did  not  quail. 

"  Which  is  the  man  ?  "  asks  a  soldier  of  Leonard  Bour- 
don, who  did  not  face  his  fallen  enemy. 

He  pointed  the  questioner's  pistol  at  Robespierre,  and  he 
said,  "  That  is  the  man." 

The  report  was  heard,  and  the  next  moment  Robes- 
pierre's head  fell  upon  the  proclamation  he  was  signing  at 
the  instant. 


LOVE    AND     LIBERTY.  371 

The  ball  had  entered  the  left  side  of  the  face,  and  carried 
away  part  of  the  cheek  and  several  teeth. 

Couthon  tried  to  rise,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

St.  Just  sat  calmly  glancing  from  his  fallen  friend  to  his 
enemies. 

The  procession  to  the  Convention  was  horrible  enough. 
It  vvas  now  daybreak. 

First  was  carried  Robespierre,  on  a  litter,  his  face  tied  up 
in  a  handkerchief;  then  came  his  brother,  insensible,  in  the 
arms  of  two  men ;  then  followed  the  dead  body  of  Lebas, 
over  which  the}'  had  thrown  a  table-cover. 

Couthon,  who  had  rolled  in  the  mud,  followed  ;  and  the 
procession  was  closed  by  St.  Just,  walking  bare-headed. 

"  The  recreant  Robespierre  is  here  !  "  said  the  President 
of  the  Convention,  a  man  just  chosen.  "  Shall  he  be 
brought  in  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  the  Conventionists.  u  The  corpse  of  a 
tyrant  can  carry  nothing  but  contagion  along  with  it.  To 
the  scaffold  ! " 

Robespierre  was  put  aside  in  a  room,  and  hundreds  of 
people  pushed  in  to  assure  themselves  the  tyrant  was  dead. 

He  heard  and  saw  all ;  but  could  not  speak. 

At  three,  he  and  his  friends  were  tried.  At  six,  they 
were  being  conveyed  in  carts  to  execution. 

There  was  no  lack  of  people  to  see  Robespierre  die ; 
women  dressed  as  for  a  ball,  believing  that  with  Robes- 
pierre the  Reign  of  Terror  was  at  an  end. 

Children  huddled  around  the  carts — orphans  of  his 
victims — crying,  "  Kill  him  !  kill  him  !" 

His  procession  to  the  scaffold  was  a  line  of  loud-spoken 
imprecations. 

He  never  spoke  or  uttered  a  cry,  except  when  the 
bandage  was  taken  from  his  face  ;  then  a  scream,  heard 
many  hundred  yards  away,  burst  from  him. 

His  head  fell — he  and  the  Terror  ended  together. 

Trance  fell  into  the  hands  of  Napoleon. 


My  tale  is  done.  I  have  said  very  little  about  myself — 
I,  Rene  Besson,  found  in  my  old  age  by  Alexander  Dumas, 
seated  in  the  sunlight.  I  married  Estelle  Duplay  (the 
furies   broke    into   the   house   of  Duplay,    the   day   after 


372  LOVE     AND    LIBERTY. 

Robespierre's  death,  and  killed  his  poor  wife),  and  found 
peace  and  happiness.  One  last  word  !  I  have  never  re- 
gretted saving  Sophie  Gerbaut,  and  the  Viscount  de  Malmy, 
from  the  Terror.  That  I  did.  I  am  now  an  old  man.  My 
very  last  words  are  these.  The  Revolution  Was  terrible, 
but  it  did  the  world  more  good  in  the  long  run  than  the 
world  has  yet  found  out. 

Rene  Bess  on. 


the   end. 


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American  Notes;  and  The  Uncominerci.il  Traveler, Cloth,     1.50 

Hunted  Down;  and  other  Reprinted    Pieces, Cloth,    1.50 

The  Holly-Tree  Inn  ;  and  other  Stories, Cloth,    1.50 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  nineteen  volumes. $28.00 

"         "  Full  sheep,  Library  style, 38.00 

"         "         Half  calf,  sprinkled  edges, 47.00 

"         "  Half  calf,  marbled  edges, 53.00 

"         "  Half  calf,  antique 57.00 

"         "  Half  calf,  full  gilt  back.-,  etc., 57.00 

ILLUSTRATED  DUODECIMO  EDITION. 

Reduced  in  price  from  $2.00  to  $1.50  a  volume. 
This  edition  is  printed  on  the  finest  paper,  from  large,  clear  type,  leaded, 
Long  Primer  in  size,  that  all  can  read,  the  whale  containing  near  Six 
Hundred  full  page  Illustrations,  printed  on  tinted  paper,  from  designs  by 
Cruikshanh.  Phiz,  Browne,  Haclise,  McLenan,  and  other  artists.  The  fol- 
lowing hooks  are  each  contained  in  two  volumes. 

Our  Mutual  Friend, Cloth,  S3. 00  i  Bleak  House, Cloth,  $3.00 

Pickwick  Papers Cloth,     3.00  I  Sketches  by  "  Boz," Cloth,     3.00 

Tale  of  Two  Cities, Cloth,     3.00  :  Barnaby  Rudsre, Cloth,     3.00 

Nicholas  Nickleby Cloth,     3.00    Martin  Chuzzlewit Cloth,     3.00 


David   Copperfield, Cloth,      3. HO 

Oliver  Twist, Cloth,     3.00 

Christmas  Stories, Cloth,     3.00 


Old  Curiosity  Shop, Cloth,     3.00 

Little  Dorril Cloth,     3.00 

Doinbey  und  Son, Cloth,     3.00 


The  following  are  each   complete   in   one  volume,  and  are  reduced  in  price 
from    $2.50  to  $1.50  a  volume. 

Great  Expectations Cloth.  SI. 50  |  Dickens' New  Stories,  ...Cloth,  $1.50 

American  No  -■>;  and  The  Uncommercial  Traveler, Cloth,     1.50 

Hunted   Down;  and  other  Reprinted    Pieces, Cloth,    1.50 

The  Holly-Tree  Inn;   and   other  Stories, Cloth,     1.50 

.  rice  of  a.  set,  in  thirty-three  volume?,  bound  in  cloth, $49.00 

Fnll  sheep,  Library  style 66.00 

"  "  H>lf calf,  nnfiqiiP 99.00 

"         "         Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc 99.00 


goT  Jbooks'sent,  postag?    paid,  on  receipt  of   the  Retail  Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson    &   Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


6    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES  DICKENS'    WORKS. 

ILLUSTRATED  OCTAVO  EDITION. 

Reduced  in  pirice  from  $2.50  to  $2.00  a  volume. 

This  edition  in  printed  from  large  type,  double  column,  octavo  par/?,  each 
book  being  complete  in  one  volume,  the  whole  containing  near  Six  Hundred 
Illustrations,  by  Gruikshank,  Phiz,  Browne,  Maclise,  and  other  artists. 

David  Copperfield, Cloth,  $2.00 


Barnaby  Radge, Cloth, 

Martin  Chuzzlewit, Cloth, 

Old  Curiosity  Shop, Cloth, 

Christmas  Stories Cloth, 

Dickens'  New  Stories, ...Cloth, 
A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,. ..Cloth, 
American   Notes   and 

Pic-Nic  Papers, Cloth, 


2.00 
2.00 
2.00 
2.09 
2.00 
2.00 

2.00 


Our  Mutual  Friend, Cloth,  $2.00 

Pickwick  Papers Cloth,     2.00 

Nicholas  Nickleby Cloth,      2.00 

Great  Expectations Cloth,     2,00 

Lamplighter's  Story,.... Cloth,     2.00 

Oliver  Twist, " Cloth,      2  00 

Bleak  House, Cloth,      2.00 

Little  Dorrit Cloth,      2.00 

Dombey  and  Son, Cloth,      2.00 

Sketches  by  "  Boz," Cloth,      2.00 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  eighteen  volumes, $30.00 

"         "  Full  sheep,  Library  style, 45.00 

"         "  Half  calf,  sprinkled  edges, 55.00 

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"         "  Half  calf,  antique 70.00 

"         "  Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc., 70.00 

"NEW  NATIONAL  EDITION"  OF  DICKENS'  WORKS. 

This  is  the  cheapest  complete  edition  of  the  works  of  Charles  Dickens, 
"Boz,"  published  in  the  world,  being  contained  in  seven  large  octavo  vol- 
umes, with  a  portrait  of  Charles  Dickens,  and  other  illustrations,  the  whole 
making  nearly  six  thousand  very  large  double  columned  pages,  in  large,  clear 
type,  and  handsomely  printed  on  fine  white  paper,  and  bound  in  the 
gtronge-t  and  most  substantial  manner. 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  seven  volumes, $20.00 

"  "  Full  sheep,  Library  style, 25.00 

"  "         Half  calf,  antique, 30.00 

"  "         Half  calf,  full  gilt  back,  etc., 30.00 

CHEAP   SALMON   PAPER  COVER  EDITION. 

Each  book  being  complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume. 

Christmas  Stories, 25 

The  Haunted  House, 25 

Uncommercial  Traveler, 25 

A  House  to  Let, 25 

Perils  of  English  Prisoners, 25 

Wreck  of  the  Golden  Mary, 25 

Tom  Tiddler's  Ground,....'- 25 

Our  Mutual  Friend, 35 

Bleak  House, 35 

Little  Dorrit, 35 

Joseph   Grimaldi 50 

The  Pic-Nic  Papers, 50 

No  Thoroughfare 1  * 

Hunted  Down, 25 

The  Holly-Tree  Inn 25 

Li'viner's  Leraey, 25 

Prescriptions, 25 


Pickwick   Papers 35 

Nicholas  Nickleby, 35 

Dombey  and  Son, 35 

D  ivid  Copperfield 25 

Martin  Chuzzlewit, 35 

Old  Curiosity  Shop 25 

O'.iver  Twist 25 

American  Notes, 25 

Great  Expectations, 25 

Hird  Times, 25 

A  Tile  of  Two  Cities 25 

Somebody's  Luggage, 25 

Message  from  the  Sea, 25 

Barnaby  Radge 25 

Sketches  by  "Boz," 25 

Mr-'.  Lir-iper's  Lodgings  and  Mr: 
Mugby  Junction  and  Dr.  Marigo 


ttjj"  Books  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  r.f  the   Retail    Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PTJLICATIONS.    7 


CHARLES  LEVER'S  BEST  WORKS. 

Charles  O'Malley, 75  j  Knight  of  Gwynne, 75 

Harry  Lorrequer, 75  I  Arthur  O'Leary, 75 

Jack   Hintun, 75    Con  Cregan, 75 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours, 75  '  Davenport  Dunn, 75 

Above  are  each  ia  paper,  or  finer  edition  in  cloth,  price  $2.00  each. 

Horace  Templetou, 75  |  Kate  O'Douoghue, 75 

MADAME  GEORGE  SAND'S  WORKS. 

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Do.                 do.        cloth,...  1   50 

Indiana,  a  Love  Story,  pajier,.  1   50 

Do.                 do.        cloth,...  1  75 

Consuelo  and  Rudotstadt,  both 

in  one  volume,  cloth, 2  00 


Consuelo 75 

Countess  of  Rudolstadt, 75 

First  and   True  Love, 75 

The  Corsair, 50 

Jealousy,                paper, 1   50 

Do.                    cloth, 1  75 

WILKIE  COLLINS'  BEST  WORKS. 

The  Crossed  Path,  or  Basil,....   1  50  |  The  Dead  Secret.     12mo 1 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 


Hide  and  Seek, 75 

After  Dark 75 

The  Dead  Secret.     8vo 75 

Above  in  cloth  at  $1.00  each. 

The  Queen's  Revenge, 75 


Mad  Monkton, 

Sights  a-Foot, 

The  Stolen  Mask,.. 
The  Yellow  Mask,. 
Sister  Rose, 


50 

50 
50 
25 
25 
85 


MISS  PARDOE'S  WOEKS. 


Rival   Beauties, 

Romance  of  the  Harem,. 


Confessions  of  a  Pretty  Woman,       75 

The  Wife's  Trials, 75 

The  Jealous  Wife, 50 

The  five  above  books  are  also  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $4.00. 

The  Adopted  Heir.     One  volume,  paper,  $1.50;  or  in  cloth, $1 

The  Earl's  Secret.     One  volume,  paper,  $1.50;  or  in  cloth,  1 

MRS.  HENRY  WOOD'S  BOOKS. 


Red  Court  Farm, 1 

Liter's  Folly 1 

St.  Martin's  Eve, 1 

Mildred  Arkell 1 

Shadow  of  Ashlydyat, 1 

Oswald  Cray, 1 

Vomer's  Pride, 1 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover, 
The  Mystery 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover, 
The  Channings 1 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover, 

O-ville  College 

The  Runaway  Match, 

The    Lost  Will 

The  Haunted  Tower, 

The  Lost  Bank  Note, 


Lord  Oakburn's  Daughters  ;  or, 
the  Earl's  Heirs, 1 

Squire  Trevlyn's  Heir  ;  or, 
Trevlyn   Hold 1 

The  Castle's  Heirj  or,  Lady 
Adelaide's  Oath, 1 


50 
50 
50 
50 
50 
50 
or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.75  each. 

75  |  A  Life's  Secret, 

or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.00  each. 

00  |  Aurora  Floyd 

or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.50  each. 

50     Better  for  Wor-e 

60    Foggv  Night  at  Offord 

50    The  Lawyer's  Secret 

50    William  Allnir 

75    A  Light  and  n  Dark  Christinas, 


gg°  Books  sent,  postage  paid,   on   receipt  of  the  Retail  Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,   Philadelphia,  Pa. 


8    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


GEOR3E  W.  M 

Mysteries  of  Court  of  London,.. 

Rode  Foster.     Spinel  to  it 

Carolina  nf  Brun.-wick, 

Vene.tia  Trelawney, 

Lord  Saxondale, 

C  unit   Christoval, 

Rosa  Lambert, 

The  above  are  each  in  paper 

T  ic  Opera  Dancer, 

Child  of  Waterloo, 

Robert  Bruce, 

Discarded  Queen, 

The  Gipsy  Chief, 

M  iry  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scots,... 
Wallace,  the  Hero  of  Scotland, 

Isabella  Vincent,.. 

Vivian  Bertram, 

Countess  of  Lascclles, 

Loves  of  the  Harem, 

Ellen   Percy, 

Agnes  Evelyn, 


1 

(HI 

1 

5  0 

1 

00 

1 

00 

1 

00 

1 

00 

1 

00 

cover 

Mary  Price, 1  00 

Eustace  Quentin, ]    00 

Joseph  Wilmot, 1   00 

Banker's  Daughter, 1  00 

Kenneth, 1    00 

The  Rye-House  Plot, 1   U0 

The   Necromancer, 1   00 

or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

Tiie  Soldier's  Wife, 75 

May  Middleton, 75 

Duke  of  Marchmont 75 

Massacre  of  Gleneoe, 75 

Queen  Joanna;  Court  Naples,        75 

Pickwick  Abroad, 75 

Parricide, 75 

Th-j  Ruined  Gamester, 50 

Ciprina;  or,    the  Secrets  of  a 

Picture  Gallery, 50 

Life  in  Paris, 50 

Countess  and  the  Page, 50 

Edgar  Montrose, 50 


WAVEELEY  NOVELS.    BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

CHEAPEST  EDITION  IN   THE   WORLD. 

20   The  Betrothed 20 

20    Peveril  of  the  Peak, 20 

20    Quentin  Durward, 20 

20   Red  Gauntlet, 20 

20   The  Talisman, 20 

20   Woodstock, 20 

Highland  Widow,  etc 20 

The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth, 20 

Anne  of  Geierstein, 20 

Count  Robert  of  Paris, 20 

The  Black  Dwarf  and  Legend 

of  Montrose, 20 

Castle    Dangerous,    and    Sur- 
geon's Daughter, 20 


Ivanhoe, 

Rob  Roy, 

Guy  Minneriny 
The  Antiquary. 
Old  Mortality  . 
H  iart  of  Mid  Lothian,. 


Bride  of  Lammermoor, 20 

Waverley 

Sf.  Ronan's  Well, 

K  mil  worth, 

T.ie  Pirate, 

Tie  Monastery, 

Tne  Abbot 

T.ie  Fortunes  of  Nigel, 


Above  edition  is  the  cheapest  in  the  world,  and  is  complete  in  twenty-six 
volumes,  price  Twenty  cents  each,  or  Five  Dollars  for  the  complete  set. 

A  finer  edition  is  also  published  of  each  of  the  above,  complete  in  twen- 
ty six  volumes,  prioe  Fifty  cents  each,  or  Ten  Dollars  for  the  complete  set. 

M>redun.    A  Tale  of  1210, 51)  I  Scott's  Poetical  Works, 5  00 

Talos  of  a  Grandfather, 25  I  Life  of  Scott,  cloth, 2  50 

"NEW  NATIONAL  EDITION"  OF  "WAVERLEY  NOVELS." 

T  lis  edition  of  the  Waverley  Novels  is  contained  in  five  large  octawvoU 

mnes,  with  a  portrait  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  making  four  thousand  very  large 

double  columned  pages,  in  good  type,  and  handsomely  printed  on  the  finest 

of  white  paper,  and  hound  in  the  strongest  and  most  substantial  manner. 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  five  volumes, $15  00 

«  "  Full  sheep,  Library  style 17   50 

"  "  Half  calf,  antique,  or  Half  calf,  gilt, 25   00 

The  Complete  Prose  and   Poetical  Work*  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  are  nNo 

published  in  ten  volumes,  bound  in  half  calf,  for $00.00 

**■*>- 

tgg"  Books    sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of   the  Retail  Price,  by 
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T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    9 


HUMOROUS  AMERICAN  WORKS. 


Beautifully  Illuati 

Major  Jones'  Courtship, 

Major  Jones'  Travels 

Simon   Suggs'  Adventures  and 

Travels, 

Major    Jones'    Chronicles    of 

Piuevilie, 

Polly  Peablossom's  Wedding,.. 
Mysteries  of  the  Backwoods,... 

Widow  Rugby's  Husband, 

Big  Bear  of  Arkansas 

Western    Scenes;    or,  Life   on 

the  Prairie 

Streaks  of  Squatter  Life, 

Pickings  from  the  Picayune,... 
Stray  Subjects,   Arrested    and 

Bound  Over, 

Louisiana  Swamp  Doctor, 

Charcoal   Sketches 

Misfortunes  of  Peter  Faber 

Yankee  among  the  Mermaids,.. 
New  Orleans  Sketch  Book, 


(ited 

75 
75 

75 

75 
75 
75 
75 
75 

75 
75 
75 

75 


75 


by  Felix  0.  C.  Durley. 

Drama  in  Pokerville 

The  Quorndon   Hounds 

My  Shooting  Box 

Warwick  Woodlands,,.. 

The  Deer  Stalkers, 

Peter  Ploddy 

Adventures  o;  Captain  Farrago, 

Mojor  O'Regan's  Adventures,.. 

Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Appren- 
ticeship,  

Sol.   Smith's   Theatrical  Jour 
n  ev- Work 

The  Quarter  Race  in  Kentucky, 

Aunt  Patty's  Scrap  Bag 

Percival     Mayberry's     Adven- 
tures and  Travel?, 

Sam  Slick's  Yankee  Yarns  and 
Yankee  Letters, 

Adventures  of  Finite  Fumble,. 

American  Joe  Miller, 

Following  the  Drum, 


DISRAELI'S  WORKS. 


Henrietta  Temple, 50 

Vivian  Grey, 75 

Yenetia, 50 


Young  Duke 

Miriam   Alroy, 

Contarina  Fleming 


FRANK  FAIRLEGH'S  WORKS. 


Frank  Fairlegh,. 
Lewis  Arundel,... 


75  1  Harry  Racket  Scapegrace,. 

75  I  Tom  Racquet, 

Finer  editions  of  above  are  also  issued  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each. 

Harry  Coverdale's    Courtship,  1  50  |  Lorrimer  Littlegood, 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

C.  J.  PETERSON'S  WORKS. 

The  Old  Stone  Mansion 1  50  I  Kate  Aylesford 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

Cruising  in  the  Last  "War, 75  I  Grace   Dudley;   or,  Arnold  at 

Valley  Farm, 25  |      Saratoga, 

JAMES  A.  MAITLAND'S  WORKS. 

The  Old  Patroon 1   50  I  Diary  of  an  Old  Doctor, 

The  Watchman, 1   50  I  Sartaroe, 

The  Wanderer 1   50     The  Three  Cousins 

The  Lawyer's  Story, 1   50  J 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

WILLIAM  H.  MAXWELL'S  WORKS. 

TTild  Sports  of  the  West 75  I  Brian  O'Lynn, 

Stories  of  Waterloo, 75  I 


75 


7a 
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75 


75 

75 
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50 
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75 
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1  50 


1  50 


51) 


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75 


ffjg'  Looks   sent,   postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail  Prioe,  by 
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10  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


WILLIAM  HiiR-klSGN  ALkSWGRTii'S  WORKS. 


Life  of  Jack  Sheppard, 50 

Life  of  Guy  Fawkes, 75 

Above  in  1  vol.,  cloth,  SI. 75. 

Court  of  the  Stuarts, 75 

Windsor  Castle, 75 

The  Star  Chamber, 75 

Old  St.  Paul's, 75 

Court  of  Queen  Anne 50 

Lite  of  Dick  Turpin 50 

Life  of  Davy  Crockett, 50 


Tower  of  London, 

Miser's  Daughter, 

Above  in  cloth  $1.75  each. 

Life  of  Grace  O'Malley, 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas 

Desperadoes  of  the  NewWoild, 
Life  of  Ninon  De  L'Enclos,.... 

Life  of  Arthur  Spring, 

Life  of  Mrs.  Whipple  and  Jes- 

see  Strang, 


G.  P.  R.  JAMES'S  BEST  BOOKS. 


Lord  Montague's  Page, 1   50  |  The  Cavalier, 

The  abovo  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

The  Man  in  Black, 75  I  Arrah  Neil 

Mary  of  Burgundy, 75  I  Eva  St.  Clair, 


1  51 
1  0C 

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25 
25 
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1  50 


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Dow's  Patent  Sermons,  2d 
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Dow's  Patent  Sermons,  3d 
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Dow's  Patent  Sermons,  4th 
Series,   $1.00;    cloth 


75 
50 


1  50 
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SAMUEL  C.  WARREN'S  BEST  BOOKS. 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year,. ..paper,  1  50  i  Diary  of  a  Medical  Student,..        75 
Do.  do.  cloth,  2  00  | 

Q.K.  PHILANDER  DOESTICKS'  WORKS. 

Doesticks'  Letters, 1   50  i  The  Elephant  Club 1  50 

Plu-Ri-Bus-Tah, 1   50  I  Witches  of  New  York, 1   50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or   in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

GREEN'S  WORKS  ON  GAMBLING. 

Gambling  Exposed 1  50  I  The  Reformed  Gamhler 1   50 

The  Gambler's  Life, 1   50  I  Secret  Band  of  Brothers 1  50 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.75  each. 


MISS  ELLEN  PICKERING'S  WORKS. 


The  Grumbler 75 

Marrying  for  Money 75 

P^or'C.uisin, 50 

Knti  Walsingham,  50 

Orphan  Niece, 50 


Who  Shall  be  Heir?. 

The  Squire, 

Ellen  Wareham, 

Nan  Darrel 


CAPTAIN  MARRYATT'S  WORKS. 


Jacob  Faithful 50 

Japhet  in  Search  of  a  Father,..  50 

Phantom  Ship 50 

Midshipman  Easy, 50 

Pacha  of  Many  Tales 50 

Fr.ink  Mildmay,  Naval  Officer,  50 

Snarleyow, 50 


Newton  Forster, 

King's  Own 

Pirate  and  Three  Cutters,. 

Peter  Simple, 

Percival  Keene, 

Poor  Jnrk, 

Sea  King 


38 
38 

33 


50 
50 

50 
50 
50 
Ml 
50 


Ijgp*  Books  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail  Price,  by 
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T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.  11 


EUGENE    SUE'S    GREAT  WORKS. 

■Wandering  Jew, 1   50  i  First  Love, 50 

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Martin,  the  Foundling, 1  50    Female   Bluebeard, 60 

Above  in  clotii  at  3>-'.uo  each.         I  Man-of-War's-Man, 60 

Lite  and  Adventures  of  Raoul  De  Surville, 25 

MRS.  GREY'S  WORKS. 

Cousin  Harry, 1   50  |  The  Little  Beauty, 1  50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 


Gipsy's  Daughter 50 

Uid   D.wer  II  .use, 50 

Bjlleof  the  Family, 50 

D  ike  and  Cousin 50 

The  Little  Wife, 50 

Lena  Cameron, 50 

Sybil  Lennard 50 

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Baronet's  Daughters, 50 


Fouug  Prima  Donna,... 

Hyacinthe, 

Alice  Seymour 

Mary  Seahara 

Pas-ion  and   Principle,. 

The  Flirt, 

Good  Society 

Lion -Hear  ted, 


50 
25 
25 


J.  F.  SMITH'S  WORKS. 


The      Usurer's     Victim; 
Thomas  Balscombe 


75 


Adelaide   Waldegrave;  or,  the 
Trials  of  a  Governess, 75 


REVOLUTIONARY  TALES. 


The  Brigand 

Ralph  Ri  union, 

Seven  Brothers  of  Wyoming 

Tne  Rebel  Bride 

The  Flying  Artillerist 

Wau-nan-gee, 


50  I  Uid  Put:  or,  Days  of  1776, 50 

50     Legeuds  of  Mexico, 60 

50     Grace  Dudley 50 

50     The  Guerilla  Chief, 75 

50     The  Quaker  Soldier,  paper, 1  50 

50  I  do.  do.         cloth, 1  75 


EMERSON   BENNETT'S  WORKS. 


The  Birder  R  .ver 1  50 

Clara  Moreland 1  50 

Viola;    or  Adventures   in    the 

Far  South-West 1  50 


ISride  of  the  Wilderness, 1  50 

Ellen  Norburv, 1  50 

The  Forged  Will, I  50 

Kite  Clarendon, 1  50 


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The  II  :ir>>ss  of  Bellefonte,  and  I  Pioneer's     Daughter  and    the 


Walde-Warren,. 


Unknown  Counter 


75 


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The  Two  Bri  les 

Lore  in  a  Cottage,... 
Love  in  High  Life,.. 
Yeir  after  Marri  ige, 
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Cecelia  Howard, 

Orphan  Children 

Debtor's  D  tnghter,.. 
M  try  Moreton 


The  Divorced  Wife 

Pride  and  Prudence 

Agnes;  or.  the  Possessed, 

Lucy  Sand  ford 

The  Banker's  Wife 

The  Two  Merchants 

Trial  nnd  Triumph 

The  Iron  Rule 

Insubordination  :  or.  the  Shoe 

looker's  Daughters, 

Six  lights  with  the  Washingtonians.      With  nine  original    Illustra- 
tions.    By  Cruikshank.     One  volume,  cloth  $1  75:  or  in  paper $  1 .50 

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50 


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12  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


EXCITING   SEA  TALES. 


Adventures  of  Ben  Brace, 75 

Jack  Adams,  the  Mutineer,....  7 ■> 

Jack  Ariel's  Adventures 7j 

Petrel  ;  or,  Lite  on  the  Oceau,.  75 

Life  of  Paul   Periwinkle, 75 

Life  of  Torn  Bowling 7  J 

Percy  Effingham, 73 

Cruising  in  the  Last  War, 75 

Ked  King So 

The  Corsair 50 

The  Doomed  Ship 50 

The  Three  Pirates, 5H 

The  Flying  Dutchman, 50 

The  Flying  Yankee, 50 

The  Fankee  Middy 50 

The  Gold  Seekers 50 

The  King's  Cruisers 50 

Life  of  Alexander  Tardy, •    60 

Red  Wing 50 

Yankee  Jack, 50 

Yankees  in  Japan, 60 

Morgan,  the  Buccaneer, 5o 

Jack  Junk 50 

Davis,  the   Pirate 50 

Valdez,  the  Pirate, 50 


Gallant  Turn, 50 

Harry  Uolui 50 

Hurry  Tempest, 5U 

Rebel  and  Rover, 50 

Man-of-WarVMan,.«! 50 

Dark  Shades  of  City  Life, 25 

The  Rats  of  the  Seine, 25 

Charles  Ransford, 25 

The  Iron  Cross, 25 

The  River  Pirates, 25 

The  Pirate's  Son, 25 

Jacob  Faithful, 50 

Phantom  Ship, 50 


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Snarleyow, 

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Japhet, 

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The  Quaker  City, 1   50 

Paul  Ardenheim 1    50 

Blanche  of  Brandj'wine 1  50 

Washington  and  his  Generals; 
or,  Legends  of  the  American 

Revolution 1   50 

Mysteries  of  Florence 1  00 

Above  in  cloth  at  $2.00  each. 


The  Empire  City, 75 

Memoirs  of  a  Preacher, 75 

The  Nazarene, 75 

Washington  and  his  Men, 75 

Legends  of  Mexico, 50 

The  Entranced, 25 

The  Robbers, 25 

The  Bank  Director's  Son 25 


MILITARY   NOVELS.    BY  BEST  AUTHORS. 


With  Illumiuated  Milit; 

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Jack  Ilinton,  the  Guardsman,       75 

The  Knight  of  Gvvynue, 75 

Harry  Lorreo,uer 75 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours, 75 

Arthur  O'Leary, 75 

Con  Cretan, 75 

Kate    O'Donoghue, 75 

Horace  Templeton, 75 

Davenport  Dunn, 

Jack  Adams'  Adventures,... 

Valentine  Vox 

Twin  Lieutenants, 

Stories  of  Waterloo, 

The  Soldier's  Wife, 

Guerilla  Chief, 


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Twenty  Years   After, 

llragelonne,  Son  of  Athos, 

Forty-five  Guardsmen, 

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The  Gipsy  Chief, 

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Child  of  Waterloo 

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Life  of  Jack  Ariel, 

Wallace,  the  Hero  of  Scotland, 

Following  the   Drum, 

The  Conscript,  a  Tale  of  War. 
By  Alexander  Dumas, 


75 
75 
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Tlie  Indian  Scout, 75 

The  Trail  Hunter, 75 

The  Indian  Chief, 75 

The  lied  Track, 75 


Trapper's   daughter, 75 

The  Tiger  Slayer, 75 

The  Gold  Seekers, ...  75 

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French  without  a  Master, 40 

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Languages,  whereby  any  one  or  all  of  these  Languages  can  bo  learned  by 
any  one  without  a  Teacher,  with  the  aid  of  this  book,  by  A.  II.  Monteith, 
Esq.,  is  also  published  in  liner  style,  in    one  volume,  bound,  price,  $1.75. 

HARRY  COCKTON'S  WORKS. 


Sylvester  Sound, 75 

Valentine  Vox,  in  paper, 75 

do.         fiuer  edition,  cloth,  2  00 


The  Sisters, 75 

The  Steward, 75 

Percy  Effingham, 75 


WAR  NOVELS.    BY  HENRY  MORFORD. 

Phoulder-Straps, 1   50  I  The  Days  of  Shoddy.     A  His- 

The  Coward, 1   50  1       tory  of  the  late  War 1  50 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.75  each. 

LIVES  OF  HIGHWAYMEN. 

Life  of  John  A.  Murrel, 60 

Life  of  Joseph  T.  Hnre, 50 

Life  of  Col.  Monroe  Edwards,.  60 

Life  of  Jack  Sheppard, 50 

Life  of  Jack  Rann, 50 

Life  of  Dick  Turpin, 50 

Life  of  Helen  Jewett, 50 

Desperadoes  of  the  New  World,  60 

Mysteries  of  New  Orleans, 50 

The  Robber's  Wife 50 

Obi;  or,  Three  Fingered  Jack,  60 

Kit  Chiyton 50 

Life  of  Tom  Waters, 50 

Nat  Blake, 50 

Bill   Horton, 50 

Galloping  Gus, 50 

Life  A  Trial  of  Antoine  Probst,  50 

Nod   Hastings, 60 

Eveleen  Wilson 50 

Diary  of  a  Pawnbroker, 50 

Silver  and  Pewter, 50 

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Life  of  Grace  O'Malley 50 

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25 

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Capt.  Blood  and  tie  Beagles, „ 

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Sixteen- Stringed  Jack's  Fight 

2ft 

25 

26 

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26 

76 

Life  and  Adventures  olVidocq, 

1  50 

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b7 


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WORKS  AT  75  CENTS.    BY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

Hans  Breitman's   Party.     With   other  Ballads.     New  and  Enlarged 

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Wobster  and  Ilayne's  Speeches  in  Reply  to  Colonel  Foote, 

TheBrigaud;   or,  the  Demon  of  the  North.     By  Victor  Hugo, 

Roanoke;  or,  Where  is  Utopia?     By  C.  H.  Wiley.     Illustrated,. 


Banditti  of  the  Prairie, 

Tom  Racquet, 75 

Red  Indians  of  Newfoundland,  75 

Salathiel,  by  Croly, 75 

Corinne;  or,  Italy, 75 

Ned  Musgrave 75 

Aristocracy, 75 

Inquisition  in  Spain, 75 

Elsie's  Married  Life, 75 

Ley  ton  Hall.  By  Mark  Lemun,  75 


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The  Coquette, 

Thackeray's  Irish  Sketch  Book, 

Whitehall, 

The  Beautiful  Nun, 

Mysteries  of  Three  Cities, 

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The  Greatest  Plague  of  Life,..  50 

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Female  Life  in  New  York, 50 

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do.  do.,    cloth, 75 

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do.      do.     cloth, 75 


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BY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

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Rebel  ami  Rover 

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25 


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Dielc  Parker, 

Jack  Ketch 

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M  try  15  it  j man 

It  io.il  (Is  Survillo 

L:fj  of  llirry  Thomas 

Mrs.  Whipple  &,  Jesse 

A  Iventures,  , 

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Ninon  De  L'Enclos' Life, 25 

The  Iron  Cross 25 

Biddy  Woodhull  tho  Beautiful 

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C.ipt.  lilood,  the  Highwayman,  25 

Capt.  Blood  and   the  Beagles,  25 

Highwayman's  Avenger, 25 

Itody  the  Rover's  Adventures,.  25 
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America's  Mission, 25  I  A  Thanksgiving  Sermon, 15 

Thankfulness  and  Character,..       25  |  Politics  in  Religion, 12 

Henry  Ward  Beecher  on  War  and  Emancipation, 15 

Rev.  William  T.  Brantley's  Union  Sermon, 15 

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NEW   BOOKS   BY   MRS.  ANN  S.   STEPHENS, 


THE  CURSE  OF 

BY  MRS.  ANN  S.  STEPHENS, 

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Read  what  the  Editors  of  the  N?.w  Fork  Weekly  say  of  it,  in  their  paper,  editorially : 
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graphic  delineation  of  passion  and  character,  beauty  and  strength  of  style, 
reality  of  description,  sweep  of  imagination,  brilliancy  of  fashion,  power 
over  the  fount  of  tears  and  laughter,  and  trenchant  sarcasm  which  have 
male  her  writings  the  source  of  great  pleasure  to  readers  of  fiction 
wherever  the  English  language  is  known. 

"'The  Curse  of  Gold'  will  be  found  to  be  one  of  the  most  thrilling, 
intensely  absorbing,  unfailingly  interesting,  and  delightfully  romantic 
stories  which  Mrs.  Stephens  has  ever  penned. 

'•  '  The  Curse  of  Gold'  never  drags,  but  from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last 
the  intense  interest  is  maintained,  and  incident  follows  incident,  action 
follows  action  with  such  rapidity  that  the  reader  is  hurried  along,  fasci- 
nated in  the  various  windings  and  unwindings  of  the  plot.  The  characters 
are  so  naturally  portrayed  that  they  appear  to  have  been  drawn  from  real 
life.  The  situations  are  never  overstrained,  nor  yet  commonplace,  but  of 
a  nature  to  excite  the  attention  an'i  elicit  the  admiration  of  the  reader  at 
the  fertility  of  invention  of  the  author." 


Fourth  Edition   Now  Head}/. 

MABEL'S  MISTAKE. 

BY  MRS.  ANN  S.  STEPHENS. 

Price  $1.75  in  Cloth ;  or,  $1.50  in  Paper  Cover. 

T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers  have  just  issued  a  new  and  uniform  edition 
of  all  the  popular  works  written  by  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens.  Their  names 
are  as  follows.     Price  of  each,  $1.75  in  cloth  ;   or  SI. 50  in  paper  cover. 

ANN  S.  STEPHENS'  COMPLETE  WORKS. 


The  Curse  of  Gold $1  75 

Mabel's  Mistake, 1  75 

Doubly  False 1  75 

The  Soldiers  Orphans, 1  75 

Silent  Struggles, 1  75 

The  Wife's  Secret, 1  75 


The  Rejected  Wife, $1  75 

MarjT  Derwent 1  75 

The  Gold  Brick 1  75 

Fashion  and  Famine, 1  75: 

The  Old  Homestead, 1  75, 

The  Heiress 1  75 


Each  of  the  above  books  are  published  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume, 
bound  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each,  or  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  of  any  of  the  above  books  will  be 
gent  to  anv  ono,  fr>-e  of  postage,  on  receipt  of  price  bv  the  Publishers, 

T.  B,  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

No.  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


BY  MRS,  EMMA  U.  t.  n.  auuinwun.n. 

Price  $1.75   in  Cloth;    or   $1.50   in    Paper   Cover. 


HE  WON  H 


A  SEQUEL  TO  "  FAIR  PLAY." 

BY  MRS,  EMMA  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 

Price  $1.75  in   Cloth;    or   $1.50   in  Paper    Cover. 


BY  MRS.  EMMA  D.  E,  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 

Price   $1.75   in  Cloth;    or  $1.50   in    Paper    Cover. 

T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers  have  just  issued  a  new  and  uniform  edition 
•f  the  popular  works  written  by  Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southvvorth.  Their 
names  are  as  follows.  Price  of  each,  $1.75  in  cloth  ;  or  $1.50  in  paper  cover. 

MRS.  SOUTHWORTH'S    COMPLETE   WORKS. 


The  Chan  zed  Brides, $1  75 

How  He  Won  Her, 1  75 

F.irPlav, 1  75 

Fallon  Pride 1   75 

The  Widow's  Son, 1   75 

Bride  of  Llewellyn, 1  75 

The  Fortune  Seeker, 1  75 

Allworth  Abbey 1  75 

The  Bridal  Eve 1   75 

The  Fatal  Marriage, 1  75 

Love's  Labor  Won 1  75 

Deserted  Wife 1   75 

The  Gipsy's  Prophecy 1  75 


The  Lost  Heiress, $1   75 

The  Two  Sisters 1   75 

The  Three  Beauties 1  75 

Vivia;  or.  the  Secret  of  Power,  1  75 

Lady  of  the  Isle, 1  75 

The  Missing  Bride, 1   75 

Wife's  Victory 1    75 

The  Mother-in-Law 1   75 

Haunted  Homestead, 1   75 

Retribution 1  75 

India ;   Pearl  of  Pearl  River,..  1  75 

Curse  of  Clifton, 1  75 

Discarded  Daughter, 1  75 


Each  of  the  above  books  are  published  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume, 
bound  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each,  or  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  of  any  of  the  above  books  will  be 
sent  to  anv  one,  free  of  postage,  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

Ho.  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


6 


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